


Sculpted of Clay and Risen from the Ocean

by sweetnuisance



Series: Sculpted of Clay Series [1]
Category: Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Antiope Lives, Baby amazon almost all grown up, Baby amazon on Themyscira, Diana Returns, F/F, Female Relationships, Kid Fic, Mother-Daughter Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-03-25 06:53:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13828842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetnuisance/pseuds/sweetnuisance
Summary: Diana left Themyscira because she could not stand by while innocent lives were lost. Now that the Great War has ended she finds one innocent life she can save by returning to her home and her family.A kidfic chronicling the life of the newest baby amazon, Evandre of Themyscira.





	1. Bedtime Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana tells a bedtime story.

 

“Please Diana, tell me the story.”

Evandre was already wrestling the blankets to bury herself beneath them as Diana fed some more cedar into the fire beside the bed. The room was very much like her own when she had been Evandre’s age, the bed set in to a golden alcove though her sister’s looked less like the pattern of a shield and more like an opening flower. Diana was sure her mother had been insistent on the difference when asking Derinoe to design and craft it while Evandre was still in her cot beside Hippolyta’s bed.

“It is late and if Mother catches you awake when she returns l will be the one in trouble.” She sits on the edge of the bed and pulls the blanket up to Evandre’s chin, trying to sound stern but cannot help the smile tugging at her lips and they both know it's only a matter of time before Diana gives in and the little girl gets the bedtime story she wants.

“Pleeease. One story. Then I'll go to sleep, I promise.” She squeals a little in delight as Diana sighs dramatically then nudges her with a hip to make room for them both on the bed. In no time Diana is sat against the pillows with her legs stretched out and her sister is buried in to her side. Her left arm wraps over Evandre's shoulders and her fingers brush through honey blonde hair. Thankfully she'd changed her heavier training leathers after practice earlier in the day so Evandre’s cheek presses against the much softer leather of the halter of her dress.

“Wouldn't you prefer a different story?”

She gets a small whined response, “but it's my favourite.”

“Fine. Long ago, Mother wished so hard for a baby that she sculpted me from clay herself and begged Zeus to bring me to life.”

Evandre’s head turns up at Diana accusingly and the older amazon can hear their mother’s voice in her head ‘do not tease your sister.’ Which is a little rich given that growing up she had seen Hippolyta teasing Antiope at every given opportunity. Though Antiope’s near miraculous recovery from bullet wounds seemed to have softened her mother’s treatment of her aunt. After Diana’s return from the world of men, Philippus had told her of the near fourteen days the General had lain unconscious with her sister and wife at her bedside, and of the Queen’s prayers and soon outright begging of all the long dead Gods for their help.

Diana presses Evandre's head back down and begins her story over. Though it isn't any different in essence to the much shorter version she had tried to get away with she weaves in their mother’s years of captivity and then struggle for her sisters’ freedom and the great longing that followed for a pure and innocent life she could love, protect and nurture. One night under a bright full moon the Queen had fallen to her knees in the wet clay of a shore, clawing to bring form to the mud as the Gods had shaped the bodies of Amazons from the seabed. Finally begging Zeus, who had created all, who had breathed life into the soul of every being but also taken so many from her, to give this one more spark of life.

“My greatest love.”

The sisters both startle a little but Hippolyta’s smile at the sight of them huddled together seems to indicate neither is in trouble due to a certain princess still being awake. The fires in the hearths either side of the bed are both down to orange glowing embers and their light dances across the gold threads of the Queen’s dress, plain compared to her usual armour but more suited to an evening spent alone with Philippus, the head of her personal guard and Consort.

They watch their mother make her way across the room, fingertips brushing Diana’s shoulder as she moves to sit at the foot of the bed. Evandre's eyes are heavy with sleep but she will not give in until her story is finished and Diana allows Hippolyta to take over from her.

“Many years later my love left our island and travelled to the world of men, leaving my own world dark. Every night I would pray to Zeus that he might bring her back to me. Then one day a storm rose off the eastern shore, swells so great that we called all our vessels to harbour fearing any amazon caught by the winds and rain and thrown to the sea might drown. But the waves carried a small boat to our shores unharmed. My daughter safely home and with a baby in her arms. The Gods hadn’t only returned Diana to me, they'd given me you as well.”

Hippolyta strokes Evandre's brow and the girl’s eyes begin to close. “My heart is full and Themiscyra has not one but two princesses. True amazons both, sculpted of clay and risen from the ocean.”

At her mother's urging Diana slides out from beneath her sister and Evandre presses herself into the fur pillow, mumbling “goodnight Mother.”

Hippolyta leans over to kiss the girl's forehead, “Goodnight my baby.” Then she looks to Diana, saying nothing but raising her eyebrows in question.

Diana gives an abashed shrug, “she wouldn't go to sleep without a story. This story. It's her favourite.” She smiles with her mother, no doubt both remembering Diana’s apathy for the first part of the story when she was a child.

“You do realise I know I was not made from clay don't you?” Diana asks as they both move from the room into the corridor, their footfalls and hushed voices seeming to be the only sounds in the near silent palace.

“I have a few more years before your sister discovers Clio’s Treatises On Bodily Pleasure, so until then we say nothing more than I sculpted you from clay myself.”

Diana gives a quiet laugh and winds her arm through Hippolyta's, “yes, Mother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter was written for a writing retreat challenge for a future fic. I do have in my head the rest of the story of Diana's return with baby Evandre, being met by Hippolyta and a very much alive Antiope, and all the fun of another baby Amazon running around on Themyscira so I'll add pieces to the story when I can.


	2. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Themyscira prepares for a storm

The storm had finally arrived, deep purple-grey clouds darken the skies but the forested cliff dripping down to the ocean lights up with each crack of lightning. Hippolyta had left the doors from her main chambers to the balcony open just for this view; while rain patters against the stone floor of the doorway the air is still warm and the fireplaces lit around the room merely prevent the Queen from sitting in the darkness between the flashes of light.

It had been many years since they’d had a storm so potentially destructive hit Themyscira; and while storms such as this one brought a fair amount of damage they also revitalized the island, made room for new growth as old trees fell, provided richer soils to feed greener fields. They also gave some of her sister amazons an excuse to take to the beaches, dancing with abandon in the rain. There would be more than a few wine bottles to collect from the sands with the rest of the clean-up come morning, and perhaps more than a few of Antiope’s soldiers also.

Early this morning Hippolyta had sat with the Senate to prepare for the worst, sending word back with the Senators to their villages to recall any of the amazon fleet to docks and harbours around the island, secure livestock and homes. Now there was nothing to do but wait out the storm. By day break they would know what areas had been hit hardest and where stonemasons and carpenters from the city could be sent to oversee repairs or where Antiope’s worse for wear warriors could help with the more ‘unskilled labour’. Hippolyta had been amused by Senator Timandra’s description and more so by the way Antiope silently bristled at the remark. More entertaining still was Menalippe reminding her wife, as the three of them left the senate chamber together, of Antiope’s gallant attempt to mend the fence outside her house while they were still in the early days of their relationship; a younger, far more stubborn and full of pride, Antiope wanting to show off for her lover. While General Antiope’s army could march for days and stay strong, the General’s fence lasted little more than a few hours.

“A Queen should not brood alone in the dark.”

Antiope swept in to the room without a hint of protocol for Hippolyta and dropped herself on to the bench opposite her sister, while Menalippe came close behind but nodded graciously to Aella on duty outside the chambers and then to her Queen as she stepped inside. Her sister-in-law chose to seat herself in the chair beside Hippolyta’s, handing over a glass bottle. “At least not without a drink,” she finished for her wife.

Menalippe also offered a wry smile, knowing she can nudge Hippolyta in these unguarded and unwatched moments to drop her regal bearing and relax around her family. In truly un-Queen like fashion Hippolyta tips back her head to drink some wine straight from the bottle, wiping her lips with the back of her hand as she passes it across to Antiope.

A boom of thunder rocks the air, followed seconds later by white light bursting throughout the room. The winds suddenly seem to fall silent while the three women hold their breath and for a moment Hippolyta can almost hear drum beats from the distant beach, though it is probably only her heart beating wildly in her chest. Antiope has rolled on to her back and is staring up at the ceiling’s carvings falling in and out of shadows with the firelight.

“I thought you would have been with your Army, General,” Hippolyta teases.

Antiope’s head drops to the side to give her sister a glare. “I would have thought you’d say my position was above dancing naked in the rain,” she responds dryly.

“They do it naked now?!”

Menalippe snorts and almost spits out the mouthful of wine she’d just taken at Hippolyta’s stunned response.

“Aren’t you glad you’re not having to try to keep Diana from going down there?” Antiope regrets the words the moment they are out of her mouth but she can’t take them back. The playfulness of a few moments ago falls from their Queen like a sigh.

Menalippe tries to lift the mood by telling Hippolyta she forbade Antiope from going. Hippolyta usually loves to hear any story of her sister being put in her place and the past few months have been full of occasions where a seriously grumpy Antiope has been forced into bedrest or barred from ‘strenuous activities’ after her recovery from the battle on the beach. The Queen smiles a little to indulge her sister-in-law but her mind is lost again to the storm outside and they fall into an easy silence until there is a loud rap at the doors and Aella steps in.

“Apologies my Queen, Egeria is here for the General.” Aella drops back behind the door to allow Egeria to enter.

The warrior looks a little uncomfortable as she comes to attention before them. Her ride to the palace had been swift and she’d barely registered the rain soaking her leathers and her horse’s slick coat as she’d slid off his back; now though she is fully aware of the puddle she is leaving on the floor of the Queen’s private chambers, rivulets dripping from her braided hair and down her back, wet skirts clinging to her legs. Trying not to shuffle too much from foot to foot, Egeria focuses on Antiope, standing now before Hippolyta’s chair with one palm held back to Menalippe to tell her Second to remain seated.

“I bring word from Ephesus bay General, a boat has been seen off the horizon. The storm slows its progress but it approaches the docks.”

At once Antiope is giving orders to Egeria to have Artemis lead a small troop of warriors to the eastern bay and have the stables ready horses for herself and Menalippe. Hippolyta calls for Aella to bring her armour and also prepare her horse. While the younger amazons rush to carry out their duties the sisters both seem to have a moment where they might consider preventing the other from going before realising it would be senseless to even try and Menalippe is grateful to have avoided mediating the pair of them.

Pushing their horses through the driving rain the royal party catch up with Artemis’ group along the road to Ephesus in no time. The bay only has a small dock for pleasure boats and does not seem the likely choice for an invading force to make landfall but regardless the amazons will be waiting in force when these outsiders arrive.

From the roadside there is a gentle slope to the shore and the dock, the wooden structure edges out of the sands in to the deeper waters that are far calmer in the shelter of the curved coastline than the rough seas beyond. Shifting into single formation and moving down the incline Antiope takes the lead, Hippolyta spurring her horse on past Artemis to follow behind her General. The ride here was either not as quick as they had hoped or the churning ocean had shifted the fortunes of the small boat and carried it to the shore faster than anticipated because there is already a figure at the end of the dock lashing ropes to the piling to secure the vessel. Crouched down the person is difficult to make out, long unruly hair caught by the winds covering their face even as they attempt to sweep it back with a forearm whilst finishing the final knots. As they stand a form fitting cloak with wide sleeves and tightly belted waist makes it easy to discern a woman’s figure.

One so familiar Hippolyta cannot stop herself from immediately dropping from horseback and rushing forward. The shouts of protest from Antiope and the others become distant and muffled as though she is being pulled under water.

The other woman doesn’t move. Her arms drop to her sides, empty palms face out towards the amazons, leather strapping and the glint of gold and silver gauntlets visible in the moonlight against the heavy dark material of her cloak. Hippolyta stops short just before her, close enough that she could bring her hands up to cradle the woman’s face but she hesitates to in case she breaks some spell, wakes from this dream she’s had far too many nights.

“Hello Mother.”

Hippolyta lets out a gasp which gives way to a sob, her hands coming to cover her mouth trying to hold back the weeping that threatens to overwhelm her. Diana smiles with tears filling her dark eyes. She’d been so worried her mother’s warning that she may never return to the island if she left had been a banishment she hadn’t even considered it was Hippolyta voicing her greatest fear that she might never see Diana again. Reaching out she lays her palms flat against her mother’s cheeks just as Hippolyta had before watching her daughter leave Themyscira.

Hippolyta’s fingers fumble to take hold of Diana’s own and once she does she squeezes tight, pulling Diana’s hands to her lips and then drawing them together against her chest.

They are both a mess of laughing and crying when Diana catches sight of her aunt now approaching them. “Antiope!” With the breathless joy of a child she throws herself at the smaller woman. There are more tears with glances to both her mother and Menalippe as Diana’s brow scrunches up in confusion, asking over and over ‘how did this happen’, ‘we thought you were dead’, ‘how are you here’.

“Later,” it is a tone Antiope used often in training the younger Diana. It is the tone she had most definitely learnt from Hippolyta and it brooks no argument. “We will have time enough to share both our stories. For now I would very much like to get out of this rain.”

“Wait, I need to…” Diana trails off as she breaks away from her family and returns to the boat. It wasn’t all that dissimilar to the one she had taken with Steve Trevor, and while the sails were somewhat difficult for one person to manage this one did have a small engine making the journey back a little easier. Diana vaults the side on to the deck and leans down in front of the engine housing, the air inside when she unlatches the door is still warm from the motor and she reaches in to carefully retrieve a bundle of dry blankets.

Returning to her mother’s side she answers Hippolyta’s quizzical look by lifting back a corner of the blanket to reveal a tiny head of messy blonde hair.

“Diana?”

At the sound of the strange voice the baby’s eyelids flutter open and bright blue eyes almost the colour of Themyscira’s waters gaze up at her. Hippolyta takes a deep breath then looks back to her daughter, standing in the rain holding the child close to her body to try to protect it from the storm. Diana has the guilty little grin she always gives when she is caught out misbehaving but isn’t the slightest bit sorry for it, merely hoping to win over her mother and all Hippolyta can think is ‘I am not prepared to be a grandmother.’


	3. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hippolyta leads Diana and Evandre home

“Diana?” 

At the sound of the strange voice the baby’s eyelids flutter open and bright blue eyes almost the colour of Themyscira’s waters gaze up at her. Hippolyta takes a deep breath then looks back to her daughter, standing in the rain holding the child close to her body to try to protect it from the storm. Diana has the guilty little grin she always gives when she is caught out misbehaving but isn’t the slightest bit sorry for it, merely hoping to win over her mother and all Hippolyta can think is ‘I am not prepared to be a grandmother.’

Diana’s eyes go impossibly wide as it dawns on her just what her mother is thinking. “She’s not mine” she blurts out defensively. Then considering the fact that she has arrived home with someone else’s child stumbles over an attempt to explain herself, “she had no one. The war took her mother. Any family she had. I couldn’t leave her there alone.”

A chubby bare leg has escaped the blanket as the baby shifts in Diana’s arms. The tiny flushed face is turned up to the sky and her lips are tightening from the sleepy pout in a way Hippolyta recalls very soon leads to tears. It would appear the little girl feels the same way about the rain as their great General does.

“Antiope is right, we can discuss it all once we are out of the storm.” As they turn to the horses Hippolyta does not miss her sister’s smirk at hearing an admission that she was right. Gaia, Hippolyta’s white mare, paws her hooves in the sand but waits patiently unattended for her Queen. Hippolyta steps into the stirrup and grabs the saddle to pull herself on to Gaia’s back. Aella has dismounted her own horse and holds him ready for Diana, no doubt she will ride back with one of her sisters.

“Pass the child to me, Diana.”

Diana shifts the blankets as she holds up the baby for her mother to safely grasp around the waist and settle her in the saddle. The girl is not as young as Hippolyta had first thought, perhaps a year old, able to hold herself upright against the woman and though not strong her small hands grip on to Hippolyta’s one holding the reins, as the other presses tightly against the child’s belly to keep her from squirming too much.

The thunder is distant now, the worst of the storm already moving across the island ahead of them and the rain does not hammer down as hard as when they rode out. Diana pulls Aella’s horse up beside Gaia as the group moves off, waving her hand to get the infant’s attention and giving a dazzling smile that prompts a slight squeal followed by giggles, the rain instantly forgotten.

“No one had given her a name. I called her Evandre.”

“Evandre.”

The baby tilts her head up hearing Hippolyta say her name, bumping back in to the gilded armour. Hippolyta notices the rain drops running little trails through a layer of sooty dirt covering her face and the black streaks through blonde hair. “Diana, the child is filthy.”

Now Diana does look guilty, and suddenly intent on the horse’s path ahead until she can no longer ignore Hippolyta’s hot glare. “She had to stay in the engine housing for the journey, it was the only place safe and dry,” she whines at her mother.

They are inside the city walls already and Artemis leads the rest of the group to the main stables while the royal family ride up to those annexed to the palace where Hippolyta decrees the first stop to be the bathing pools. And while Diana would rather go straight to their living quarters, maybe drink some good wine before going to sleep in her own bed, she really doesn’t have the energy to argue. She takes Evandre back in to her arms so her mother can dismount, trying to get the little one’s attention as they begin to walk but the baby cannot take her eyes off Hippolyta; the torches that light the high vaulted corridors make her mother’s armour glow a warm orange, light roiling across the bodice lines and Evandre is a little magpie when it comes to shiny things, she would spend hours playing with Diana’s gauntlets if allowed.

Menalippe interrupts Hippolyta’s ever growing list of things she needs her sister and sister-in-law to do; to get Diana’s old room made ready, to have the kitchens prepare up some food, to find the child clean clothes, a bed, some toys… “Hippolyta. We will have it all arranged.” By which they all know Menalippe will see it arranged and Antiope will ‘oversee’ her efforts. “Go,” she says nodding toward the passageway where they will part company to go to the bathing pools.

“And I will tell Philippus the good news,” Antiope smirks. Hippolyta can’t see why her sister finds it amusing to inform her Consort that Diana has returned, but narrows her eyes suspiciously at Antiope regardless. Menalippe slaps at her wife’s forearm lightly, knowing Antiope is amused by the notion of congratulating Philippus on her and Hippolyta’s new baby.

Where Antiope is a great warrior skilled in multiple arts of combat but lacking every kind of social grace and common sense, her sister is an insightful and strategic ruler, who is exceptionally slow to pick up on the nuances of any situation outside of the Senate chambers or a battlefield. Given a little time Menalippe is sure she will realise what was obviously Diana’s intention in bringing this little girl to Themyscira, and to Hippolyta.

Pushing Antiope ahead of her she nods again to the Queen to confirm all preparations will be made by the time they are done bathing.

At the pools Hippolyta dips a large bronze bowl into the water and takes a cloth from a clean stack in one of the cavern’s alcoves. Diana has her hands under Evandre’s arms, holding her up as she stands on unsteady legs in the heap of sodden blankets she’d been wrapped up in. When Evandre spots the bowl and wash cloth she immediately tears up.

“I should warn you Mother, she does not like water.”

“It doesn’t matter what she likes, Diana. She is a child and she will do as she is told,” Hippolyta responds, kneeling before them both and carefully placing the bowl down. While Diana holds on tight Hippolyta tries to wipe Evandre’s face, eventually taking a gentle but firm grip of her chin as the baby continues to try to evade her efforts.

“Noooo.” It’s the first word Hippolyta has heard her speak, so far merely grumbling or whining to escape being cleaned. Smiling fondly at her and brushing her thumb over the single clean spot on Evandre’s cheek Hippolyta merely says “yes” and continues regardless of the little girl’s struggles.

By the time her face is scrubbed clean Evandre has said ‘no’ more than a dozen times, twice howling the word in frustration but in the end only mumbling through quiet sniffles. Hippolyta puts the cloth aside and takes the girl in to her arms, surprised how eagerly Evandre’s head buries in to her shoulder and little arms tighten around her neck. Rocking the infant gently Hippolyta turns to Diana next, “you’re also filthy. In the pool with you.”

“Mother, I can bathe later.”

“You are also a child who will do as she is told,” her mother teases, smiling over the top of Evandre’s head.

Diana knows better than to argue and once she’s out of her cloak and armour and sinking in to the luminescent waters she lets out a deep groan of relief, closing her eyes and relishing the ache of two days sailing fading away. When she opens her eyes again it’s to her mother looking far too pleased with herself.

Hippolyta brings the baby over to the steps at the side of the pool, sitting herself down and settling Evandre on her lap. She reaches her arm over the edge and dips her fingers in, drawing them through the water to make trails of light which Evandre watches with fascination.

“It’s not so bad is it little one?”

While Evandre is calm and happily sucking her thumb Hippolyta works off the simple smock and under clothes then lifts the baby in to the pool. After a brief moment of shock and the cutest wide eyed look of betrayal, when Hippolyta fears the word ‘no’ will make a reappearance, Evandre realises being immersed in a warm pool is nothing like having her face scrubbed clean.

When Philippus arrives, arms full of clothing, it’s to the sound of Hippolyta laughing like she hasn’t laughed in far too long, watching Diana splashing in the bathing pool with the baby Antiope and Menalippe had told her of. Diana notices her entrance first and the smile she gives lifts a weight in Philippus’ chest she hadn’t even known was there.

“I have dry, clean clothing. For both of you,” Philippus announces, putting the pile to one side and taking two towels from the cavern’s stored linens. Hippolyta takes one and Diana lifts Evandre over for her mother to bundle up. Philippus waits on the steps with the other for Diana, who rushes more into Philippus’ arms than the towel being held for her. Pulling Diana in to the embrace and pressing her cheek against damp hair she murmurs in Diana’s ear, “we missed you so much.”

Meanwhile Hippolyta has a crying child in her ear, yelling ‘no’ and trying to crawl back across the woman’s shoulder to return to the pool. After some convincing Hippolyta has Evandre lying on one of the towels and is fastening a fresh napkin between the baby’s legs as Philippus passes her one of Diana’s old sleep shifts. “It’s a little too big,” she appraises as Hippolyta slips it over the girl’s head and draws the little arms out the sleeves. “Larina says she has all of Diana’s old things stored away. She’ll look through them in the morning to find what is useable but we have what we need to see us through the night.”

As they walk back through the tunnels that connect to the Queen’s apartments Philippus tells Diana the fires in her old room have been lit and there are fresh linens and furs on the bed. Diana thanks her and then hugs her mother, pulling Hippolyta close with a sleepy Evandre caught between them. When they part she simply utters goodnight, placing a kiss on her mother’s cheek, another on top of the baby’s head, and then walks down the corridor to her own room, brushing her fingertips against the wall as she goes, reminding herself with the touch that she is truly home.

Entering their apartment Hippolyta sees Diana’s old cradle beside the bed. She’d forgotten how beautifully carved it was, with intricate geometric designs framing scenes of animals; horses, deer and leopards. Philippus stands at her shoulder, still being judged curiously by the sleepy toddler. “Did I presume too much?” 

Of course Philippus knows she didn’t as her lover still has the baby in her arms and seemed to have no intention of handing her over to Diana for the night. Hippolyta doesn’t answer but moves to lay Evandre in the cradle, leaning over to tuck the blankets around her tightly and brushing wisps of hair from the girl’s face, tenderly stroking the soft skin of her brow until her eyelids stop fluttering and remain closed in sleep. 

“I’m being selfish,” she finally responds. Quiet and unsure and so very unlike Hippolyta, not looking to her Consort but gazing down at the baby. 

Philippus lays her hands on Hippolyta’s upper arms with enough pressure to guide her to stand and then turns her around. “How can loving a child be selfish?” 

Her palms slide down Hippolyta’s arms, not breaking their touch as she draws Hippolyta’s hands into her own. Philippus pulls her gently to the end of the bed then begins to undo her Queen’s armour, effortlessly working buckles to shed the metal pieces in a slow silent ritual they have practiced a thousand times. And, piece by piece, the warrior Queen disappears before Philippus’ eyes until it is only the woman she loves standing naked before her. Her fingers linger momentarily on the scars around Hippolyta’s wrists where shackles once bit in to them, before she steps aside to set the breastplate, shoulder guards, gauntlets and greaves on their stand and drops Hippolyta’s boots at the base while her lover slips on a silk shift, which honestly covers very little, and soft leather cuffs to replace the gauntlets. 

Hippolyta lies on her side at the edge of the bed, dropping her arm over the side of the cradle. She is able to set it rocking slightly with her elbow while her hand reaches in to stroke the baby’s soft hair, delicate curls laying against chubby cheeks. One little arm has escaped the blanket as Evandre fidgets in her sleep and Hippolyta reaches for the tiny fingers. Gods, when had Diana ever been this small. 

“We have so many sisters who could care for a baby. Who have longed to do so. I’ve already had Diana, I shouldn’t take this from someone else.” 

Philippus, now also changed for bed, presses up against Hippolyta’s back curling herself around the other woman’s body. Dark fingers brush across Hippolyta’s upper arm as Philippus props her head in the crook of her neck to see the baby beside them. 

“You cannot take something when it is already yours, Lyta.” She presses her lips to Hippolyta’s neck but it is not meant to be followed up on tonight, with all of Hippolyta’s attention captured by Evandre as delicate fingers curl around one of her own in sleep. 

Hippolyta knows Philippus is right. Philippus is always right. This child is already hers.


	4. 1918

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Etta, Charlie, Sameer and Chief all steer Diana towards meeting Evandre and the decision to go home.

Everything was grey. The buildings, the sky, the rain when it came and the puddles it left on the pavements. The faces of the grieving. The haunted eyes of the men who had come back. The choking smog filling every breath Diana took like ashes. 

Of course it was Etta who noticed. And Etta who decided something needed to be done to lift her friend’s spirits. 

The morning sparkled with frost, lingering on the window panes and the tops of walls as she dragged Diana from the flat she had graciously shared with the Amazon to the end of their road, catching the number eleven bus over to Charing Cross station. The sun had barely risen and it remained cold enough that little clouds of breath hung in the air as Etta huffed her way along, pulling at the taller woman’s hand to make it to the carriage before the train departed. 

Despite several attempts Diana could not break Etta into telling where they were going or for what reason, apparently she had learnt spy craft far too well from the men she worked for. The man she had worked for, Diana corrected to herself. Steve’s sacrifice had seemed to set them all adrift one way or another, Etta’s role with British Intelligence being currently uncertain. But Etta beamed happily back at her, clapping gloved hands in her own excitement and assuring Diana she would love the surprise. 

She was not wrong. As the train finally pulled away from the oppressiveness of London and sped into the countryside of Kent the chill of the morning was replaced by the gentle heat of the late November sun warming the glass panes of the carriage’s window. Once they arrived Diana delighted in the bright blues skies, green rolling hills and foot paths lined with trees forming tunnels of gold and red leaves. Colour everywhere.

As they sat on a rough picnic blanket to take lunch, egg salad sandwiches with real butter that Etta had somehow managed to get despite the rationing, an easy silence fell between them. What Etta assured her was unseasonably mild and pleasant weather meant they had both removed their hats and coats and Diana eventually laid her head back against the folded item to gaze up at the cloudless sky. 

This was what she had seen, the vision Ares had tempted her with; the bare and torn fields of mud and smouldering ruins growing green and vibrant and strong again. If only she could make it happen back there in the fields of Belgium and France and the other places war had ravaged further across the continent than she had been with Steve. 

“I could save today. You could save the world,” he had told her. Maybe she could. And maybe she didn’t have to do it by herself.

So Etta made all the arrangements. 

Charlie was to meet Diana at a little café by the station. As she sat drinking tea from a chipped china mug he came up behind her, singing quietly ‘Will ye go, lassie, will ye go?’ and she stood to fold him in to a hug. 

Sameer would be waiting for them both at the docks. Taking her hand he kissed it before presenting tickets for their passage across the channel with a grand flourish, beginning a tale of how he had managed to exchange the ones Etta had purchased for first class travel deserving of a Princess. As they approached the gangway he whispered hastily that should the ticket inspector ask she was the Crown Princess of Andorra returning to her people now that war was over. 

Chief would reunite with the three in Belgium, returning to where the front lines of the war had been only months ago. When they arrived past sunset to a group of tents already raised and fire blazing, he greeted Charlie and Sameer with embraces and slaps on the back. Diana he welcomed with an open hand and Siksika words, welcoming her back as family. 

Together they helped where they could, rebuilding homes stone by stone, repairing roads and bridges, passing out food as relief efforts arrived. Diana’s plan for winter was to see these people sheltered and fed so by spring she could work alongside them to plant seeds, regrow their gardens and fields and thrive again. 

For the last two days they had been with the returning refugees of a small village not entirely wiped out by the trenches that had been cut from the earth nearby nor the shelling it had endured. A group of nuns (Diana learned they were women who had given themselves to their faith like the acolytes that once tended the temples of the Gods) had arrived the day before with a small group of children in tow. Like gathered ducklings they were following the Sisters from this broken place to new lives in Britain or America; also like ducklings they needed to constantly be gathered up to rest before moving onwards. 

Sameer had spent last night entertaining them with wild stories before the women had scooped up their charges and ushered them off to the home they were boarding in overnight. They would be leaving later in the day so Diana abandoned Charlie to work alone on a farmhouse wall they had been repairing to come play with some of the children for a short while. He’d let her go with a smile even before she called back promising she would bring him lunch on her return. 

There had been a little sword fighting with sticks until the nuns had put a stop to it and then Diana had patiently plaited the hair of a number of the girls, teaching one of the older ones as she did so. She had of course been captivated by the babies too, even cooing over the wailing little ones the nun’s bounced in their arms while still trying to supervise the older children. But even with God-like abilities and Amazon stamina they had exhausted her. 

Now sitting on the tree stump in the front of the house she keeps an eye on the children as they chase each other or play intricate hand-clapping games. When one little boy hurtles past the steps to the kitchen door she notices beside them one child sat quiet and alone. An emptied supply crate serves as a cot, stuffed with an old blanket and a potato sack to support the little girl as she sits and watches the others play around her. The baby’s eyes were what had caught Diana’s attention, and almost stopped her heart beating in her chest for a breath; Sad and lost, they are the same blue as Steve’s had been. 

It is Sameer who tells her later, after she spends the rest of the morning with the girl and not one adult had even glanced their way, that the child is a bastard. She has no father. Diana has the little one sat on her knees, helping her to eat some mashed up colourless vegetable. Tiny but determined hands keep trying to grab the spoon but her first attempt at feeding herself had resulted in most of the spoonful smeared around her face so Diana keeps a firm hold of it. 

“Of course she has no father, none of them do. Or mother.” 

She still doesn’t understand when Sameer tells her the nuns say the mother died of shame. It breaks his heart to tell her the young woman probably took her own life, to try to put in to words so Diana can comprehend what some people see as the disgrace of an unwed girl and the humiliation of a child with no father.

If not for the baby in her lap Diana would be up and raging at the nuns, overwhelmed by her anger at the injustice and cruelty of their thinking. “They are the ones who should be ashamed,” she furiously whispers at him, not wanting to upset the girl by shouting.

Then to have to hand her back to them. Knowing that for however many days they have left to travel she will be discarded, forgotten but for the necessities of feeding and changing. Not loved. Diana can only hope that there is a family out there waiting for her at the end of the journey. But the hope isn’t enough for her to leave easily and Charlie, who had wandered over in search of Diana and his promised lunch, has to lead her away, taking her hand in his and reassuring her that it’s okay and everything will be alright.

Their tents are set up close to the village, none of them wanting to take up precious space in the few habitable buildings. As Diana takes a seat by the camp fire she sees Charlie murmuring with Chief but chooses to ignore it and merely watches the fire in silence. Her mother would call her quietness brooding. Antiope always called it ‘serious contemplation’ to annoy Hippolyta and then would whisper to Diana ‘it is brooding, and you get it from your mother,’ making Diana smile even when she was determined not to. 

Sameer returns to camp just as Chief finishes cooking their dinner, unhooking the pot from over the fire and scooping portions into each of their tin bowls. Sameer has a bag slung over his shoulder and a bundle of blankets awkwardly held in his arms. It’s only as he comes around the edge of the fire to Diana’s side she sees the small pink face and those wide blue eyes regarding her with uncertainty. Sameer hands the bundle of blanket and baby to Diana as if he’s presenting her with a prize, oblivious to the shocked expression on her face. In her life she has spent less than a day caring for any baby and now Sameer has given her the responsibility for one, handed over with a smile and a great sense of achievement no less. 

It is Charlie who steps in, apparently having more than a few younger siblings of his own, to feed the baby a bottle of powdered milk, change her and then sing her to sleep in his arms pacing round the fire. Usually at this time of the evening Diana, Chief and Sameer make themselves busy, pretending they don’t see Charlie taking sips from his hipflask to cease the shaking of his hands but holding the baby seems to have steadied him just as well. 

Over the next couple of days Diana and the boys continue to assist the locals while taking turns minding the child. On the third night, finishing a meal that finally wasn’t just beans as one of Chief’s snares had caught a rather skinny rabbit, Sameer declares it ridiculous they keep calling her simply ‘the baby’. 

“She should have a name.”

After a few suggestions there is a general agreement that no one but Charlie likes the name Maud, to which he is crestfallen and Diana pats his shoulder gently, offering a smile. Without looking up from the fire Chief says, “Diana should give the child an Amazon name,” and Charlie and Sameer readily agree. 

She’s learnt a lot since coming to this world, about mankind and about herself, both good and bad. This little girl should have a strong name, one that will remind her of her worth and power when everything else in the world is against her. Evandre she decides, ‘as good as a man’. 

Once they all retire to their tents Diana places Evandre beside her bedroll, folded blankets either side of the baby to stop her from rolling over in sleep and as many under her for bedding and over her for warmth as Charlie could gather in the last few days. As they settle there’s a gentle tapping on the tent pole before Chief ducks his head inside. 

“You know you should take her back.” The look on Diana’s face at the suggestion must have scared him as he quickly amends, holding his hand out in a gesture of peace, “not to the nuns. To your amazons. She deserves more than just a name. She should have a home and a people.” He doesn’t wait for any response, simply straightens and leaves Diana to watch over the now sleeping baby. 

Technically, in this world, Diana is a bastard too. No father claiming her and an unwed mother. Well, not wed to a man anyway. But she had a family that loved her. A whole community of women who protected her, taught her, watched her grow; and most importantly she had her mother. 

“Would you like that Evandre? To have a mother?” Waking at the sound of Diana’s voice the baby blinks up at her slowly, giving a yawn before scrunching up her eyes and smacking her lips. Diana has learnt quickly this means she will have to get up again to warm some milk before the girl gets hungry and irritable. 

Gathering Evandre in her arms, making sure she is wrapped up against the chill night air, Diana prepares the bottle while she tells Evandre of Themyscira; the golden beaches, blue waters and clear skies, the climate that warms the stone of the city walls to the touch and the cool ocean breezes across the training fields. She tells the baby how she will teach her to ride a horse, fletch an arrow and use a sword. How they will read together in the great library buried amongst the old scrolls and books and go swimming beneath waterfalls. Diana will share a mother who will tell Evandre bedtime stories and braid her hair, teach her poems and songs from long before Diana was born and kiss her forehead to make any scrapes and bruises magically better. Who will love her, she promises. 

“I’m going to take you home.”


	5. New Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hippolyta and Philippus take Evandre on her first trip outside the Palace

It’s late enough in the morning that the birds have quietened down from their dawn chorus but Diana still finds herself yawning as she heads toward the open gate to the courtyard. Before she reaches it she hears a high pitched squeal followed by giggling that confirms Evandre with her mother and Philippus have arrived before her and began their morning meal. The small courtyard at the south side of the palace with its high walls doesn’t have the ocean view of the balconies but the sand coloured stonework does get bathed in morning sun making it Hippolyta’s favoured place to have breakfast. 

Evandre is sat on Philippus’ lap trying to grab at the pieces of fruit in the bowl set on the table in front of them but her mother keeps pulling her away just as she reaches it and another round of squealing and laughing ensues. Finally Philippus relents in their game, prompted more than a little by the look Hippolyta is giving her, and lets the girl grab a chunk of pineapple from the bowl. She chews at it happily, juice dripping down her fingers and smearing her pink lip. Diana smiles at her sister fondly, every mealtime with Evandre is a messy affair and so long as you are not the one holding her at the time it is adorable. 

The aroma of the flowers twisting through the overhead trellises mixes with fresh baked bread and the sweet fruits. These were the smells that reminded Diana most of home and of all the days that had started sat right here. But this morning she can’t shake the ones from the dream that had woken her, the smells of metal, burning and gasoline. Steve had been there but she couldn’t hold on to him. They were in each other’s arms until he was pulled away from her and she grabbed for his jacket, digging her nails into the leather desperately, clawing down his arm, grasping for his hand, her fingers scrabbling for his. The whole time his lips had been moving but she couldn’t hear his voice, just a ringing in her ears.

“Diana?”

Her mother had asked her a question as she’d taken a seat at the table but she truly had no idea what it was. 

“Sorry Mother, I wasn’t listening.”

“You look tired, Diana.” She knows Hippolyta means well but she cannot help rolling her eyes as her mother reaches over to brush the hair from her face. Which of course does nothing to dissuade Hippolyta as she continues fussing over Diana while her eldest daughter tries to fill her plate; you’re not getting enough sleep, you’ve been training too hard, you haven’t been eating properly. 

Menalippe and Antiope join them as Hippolyta resorts to laying the back of her hand to Diana’s forehead checking for fever and Diana lets out a frustrated groan. “Mother, I am fine. Please baby Evandre and not me.”

Antiope snatches a strawberry from Philippus’ hand as she passes. She sniggers as she bites in to it, at least waiting until she’s swallowed to say, “so that’s why you brought her home with you. For distraction.”

Hippolyta shakes her head, already exasperated with almost every member of her family this morning. But of course she wouldn’t give up their company for anything; despite doing her best to keep up a pretence of disapproval at most of their antics, the last month she has never been so contented and grateful for each of them. 

The days spent by Antiope’s bedside finding herself faltering with each breath her sister struggled to take, praying it would not truly be her last, already feel like another lifetime. The bone deep exhaustion of trying to stay strong for Menalippe, and for her people. Holding them up through their grief and walking each step with them through their mourning all while she had a daughter gone she could not grieve and a sister she was not yet ready to mourn. 

And when she couldn’t be strong she broke down and pleaded with dead god’s who would never answer, raged at Philippus for no other reason than her wife would stand there and take Hippolyta’s fury, wept through the night pushing away comfort for herself and spent countless mornings staring out at the sea hoping she might see Diana return. 

But now Diana is here and Antiope is healing, Menalippe smiles again and Hippolyta welcomes Philippus to her bed each night, wraps herself around her lovers body and wakes with the sunrise to the sight of her Consort rocking the baby in her arms. Their baby.

As they eat now Evandre is passed around the table from lap to lap. She tries to feed her older sister a handful of smooshed up melon, which Diana thanks her for politely and pretends to bring to her lips. She makes happy noises at Evandre as she slips her hand down to her plate to drop the mushed fruit and wipe her hand on a napkin. In Hippolyta’s arms she plays with her mother’s hair until the grabbing becomes too much and she is passed to Menalippe. 

Evandre is calmest in her aunt’s arms, Menalippe’s quiet demeanour seems to wash over her as she snuggles up against her and watches fascinated as Philippus and Antiope disagree over a training regime, both full of passion as they debate back and forth. 

Before passion turns to anything else Hippolyta steps in to end this particular morning entertainment. “While I encourage healthy discussion among my Generals I do not expect to have to play arbitrator over the breakfast table.”

Unfortunately her remark seems to spark an idea in Antiope. “You are right sister, we should of course settle the matter in a far more appropriate way.”

“No, Antiope.” Both Hippolyta and Menalippe say at the say time. 

“A contest,” Philippus grins back at Antiope and there will be no stopping them now. 

Menalippe gives Philippus’ arm a light back handed slap and an over exaggerated glare. “Why do you encourage her?” she complains but Antiope has her arms tight around Menalippe’s shoulders and pulls her slightly out of her seat to kiss the side of her head. As she does Evandre is climbing up in Menalippe’s lap to be included and Antiope has to kiss her little face too. 

So a contest is decided, Antiope spurred on even more by Hippolyta’s protests. They will settle on a list of criteria to be judged and each give a demonstration to prove whose method is best. Of course they would need a more impartial judge than Hippolyta and there remain a number of other details to work out but Philippus takes Antiope’s offered hand and they shake on the agreement. 

Hippolyta only sighs. “Just promise I will not find my entire army pitted against my Queen’s Guard for the sake of your competition.” She notices how Antiope deftly avoids answering as she, Diana and Menalippe excuse themselves for the training fields and Philippus is left to assure her love they won’t be reckless, only have some fun. 

Philippus has a hand on each armrest of Hippolyta’s chair and leans down to tell her, “I don’t meet with my lieutenants until later this afternoon. So this morning I am all yours.” Punctuating her last words with kisses to Hippolyta’s lips over Evandre’s head. 

In the past few weeks word had obviously spread of the amazon’s new princess but few besides some of Antiope’s warriors, the palace staff and several senators paying their respects had met her yet so they decide the rest of the morning should be spent taking Evandre down to the market place. While a great number of their people would get to finally see the little girl, Evandre would get her first taste of life on Themyscira outside of the palace walls.

They return to their private rooms for Hippolyta to fuss over some part of her outfit leaving Philippus to get Evandre ready. While her hair is still too fine for braids Philippus is able to draw it up with a leather strap to keep most of it off her face before taking a damp cloth to the mess breakfast left on her cheeks and lips. “It’s time to introduce you to your people properly,” Philippus tells the little girl, who tries to squirm away from her mother’s hand. That is until she notices Hippolyta’s disapproving look and stills, knowing her other mother would be no less determined and she’s doomed to have her face scrubbed regardless. 

As soon as her little sandals are fastened Evandre hops from the end of the bed and stamps her feet on the floor, enjoying the novelty of them far too much as she walks very little on her own and even then it is mostly barefoot. Of course she is perfectly able, if a little unsteady, but Hippolyta has a tendency to scoop her up at every wobble, setting the baby on her hip instead. So this morning Philippus ensures she takes Evandre’s hand and walks slowly with her through the corridors of the palace and out through the main gates reassuring her wife that their little girl can manage just fine. 

Of course by the time the family have reached the bridge to the square Evandre’s legs have gotten tired and before they have a very grumpy daughter on their hands Hippolyta is carrying her once again. Evandre has never seen this part of the city and from the higher vantage point her eyes are wide trying to take it all in now she can see over the bridge wall, the white spray of the river rushing over the rocks as it cascades down the cliffside and past the city glimpses of rolling hills, jagged rock faces and the ocean. Once crossed and nearing the square there are the bright green vines that climb the stone walls and the roof gardens spilling down toward the ground to draw her attention.

Forgoing the usual retinue that would accompany the Queen on trips to the outskirts of the city on horseback only Venelia accompanies them. With just one additional Queen’s Guard along with Philippus the other amazons feel more at ease approaching Hippolyta and the little princess, who smiles and babbles mostly nonsense words at each of them but they are all captivated by her. 

Taking a meandering route through the square their small group seems to stop with every stall in the market, the Queen trying to trade with as many as she can. Hippolyta is a fan of the practical; beautiful painted pottery, intricately woven baskets. Philippus and Evandre are more taken by the exquisite fabrics and jewellery, though Hippolyta is quick to always keep the little hands from anything that might be too delicate. 

Those selling spices, fruits and vegetables Hippolyta assures she will ask the kitchen staff to come by later in the day and in their own shops around the square she does the same with the butcher, baker and wine merchant. 

Hippolyta prides herself on knowing almost every name and face on the island. The few she may forget are soon recalled as they greet her and mention a last encounter, a thanks for some ruling she had made or to pass on a partner’s good wishes. And Hippolyta will ask about their day and how their loved ones fare as Evandre’s fingers play in her hair.

They are almost done when Hippolyta say she needs to circle back to Derinoe’s stall, the sculptor who had designed and crafted the centre piece for Diana’s bedroom when she was a child. While Evandre is happy enough in the old crib beside their bed her feet already kick against the wooden footboard when she stretches out so she will soon need more space that a real bed will afford. Also, Hippolyta thinks, it would be pleasant to have her bed chamber back for just her and Philippus. 

She tries to pass the baby to Philippus so she can discuss plans for Evandre’s own room without the distraction of trying to stop Evandre from sucking at the ends of her hair but the girl’s hands grip her top and Hippolyta has to gently uncurl her daughter’s fingers from the edge of the leather as Evandre draws out a ‘no’ and her lip quivers. 

Once in Philippus’ arms Hippolyta kisses Evandre’s forehead, tells her she’ll be just a moment then turns back to Derinoe. Mercifully the girl doesn’t break down into a full crying fit as Philippus points out Hippolyta standing only a few yards away, promising everything will be okay and bouncing the girl in her arms. When Khasa, one of the council women Philippus knows well, walks by them with a young lynx barely older than a kitten Evandre’s attention is immediately captured and her sulk forgotten. 

Philippus crouches down with the toddler held between her knees and guides her daughter’s hand to pet the animal gently, as she does it happily flops to the dirt and rolls over baring its belly and then butting its head up against the small hand to encourage more affection. At one point Philippus does have to stop Evandre from laying on top of the animal to hug it but aside from that both the girl and the cat are well behaved and equally curious of the other. 

Once Khasa moves on and Philippus stands, one of Evandre’s hands in each of her own, the girl glances over to the last place she had seen Hippolyta. While Philippus is aware that with Venelia standing just outside the canopy of the stall her wife is shielded inside speaking with Derinoe, Evandre has no such reasoning. The tears are immediate the moment she doesn’t see her mother where she should be and followed by a wail that makes Philippus fear Evandre is in pain. Between the first sobs and gulping breathes she screams, “Mama.” 

The word is barely out of her mouth when Hippolyta comes rushing from the stall and she soon has Evandre back in her arms. Even this doesn’t stop the crying, though the volume and pitch diminishes somewhat, and she still gasps ‘Mama’ over and over. 

The sobbing lasts through Hippolyta and Philippus manoeuvring to a nearby bench, Hippolyta holding the baby close to her chest and Philippus stoking her cheeks to comfort and to wipe away the tears, with Evandre angrily refusing to calm down whilst clinging almost desperately to Hippolyta. When she is all cried out Philippus has a handkerchief ready to wipe her face dry properly from the tears and the rather unpleasant amount of mucus running from her nose. 

On their walk back to the palace Hippolyta carries Evandre with the princess’ head falling heavily to her shoulder. She blinks slowly fighting sleep and has her thumb between her lips, murmuring quietly to herself around it. Hippolyta knows she will have to break Evandre of the habit soon but she cannot bring herself to do it just yet, and not now with her baby clearly comforting herself. Instead she lays her free hand against Evandre’s cheek with her thumb brushing back and forth until her eyes finally close. 

Hippolyta can feel her wife watching them both the whole time and when she looks to her, Philippus’ eyes are shining brightly with obvious love and pride. 

“She called you Mama.”


	6. Mama Now?

Rome it appears could not be built in a single day, but in the span of an afternoon. The wooden block version at least. Antiope places the final pair of carved Doric columns and a piece for the architrave to an enthusiastic clap from Evandre and leans back still knelt on the flagstones to admire their work. 

The carved pieces are the ones that had been made for Diana when she was a child but her eldest niece had never had the patience for carefully balancing the columns and laying out miniature homes, temples and stables. When Larina had found them tucked away in a trunk whilst taking Diana’s baby clothes and toys from storage they had been in as pristine condition as the day they had been presented to the Princess. After a few months in her younger niece’s hands however they were certainly more weathered. More loved as Diana liked to say. 

Antiope didn’t have long to appreciate their masterpiece before Evandre ran by pulling the string of her wooden horse on wheels, ploughing it straight through the model city and dealing destruction like a vengeful Titan. Antiope had been somewhat proud of herself for teaching the girl how much fun it was to knock them down until Menalippe started to use the threat of telling Hippolyta as leverage. So far her wife had only used it to get her way in bed so Antiope hadn’t really put up much of a fight and Hippolyta was yet to discover who had instructed her daughter in this particularly chaotic form of entertainment. 

Evandre huffs out a breath as she comes to a stop, with that game over she’ll want something else to amuse her and Antiope is ready for requests. The General had gladly offered to watch Evandre while Hippolyta and Philippus attended to matters of state; her sister-in-law riding out at first light to Corinth, one of the furthest western villages, to see potential Queens Guard recruits and her sister shut away in the study nearby probably buried under the immense amount of parchment the senate produces. 

The toddler mopes over to her aunt, the toy horse clicking on the stone floor as it trails behind her, and drops in to Antiope’s arms as she’s still knelt on the ground. Evandre tilts her head back far enough to look up at Antiope, leaning back in to the arms encircling her. “Mama now?” 

“I think we can go find your mother now.”

Antiope hoists Evandre up on her hip as she stands and then the girl is scrabbling on to her back like a monkey, gripping the shoulder strap of Antiope’s leather top to pull herself up. Antiope presses her forearms against Evandre’s legs and takes a grip of her ankles before she gets any ideas about climbing up to her shoulders. 

Stepping inside the palace they leave the heat of the afternoon for the pleasantly cool stone corridors. At her back Evandre babbles away to Antiope but a lot of her words are still unclear so Antiope simply agrees a lot and the toddler seems happy with the responses. When they reach Hippolyta’s door Antiope simply pushes the handle down with her elbow and then nudges it the rest of the way open with her boot. Hippolyta turns from her desk and doesn’t even bother to try to look exasperated, glad for the interruption and an excuse to delay reading over the proposed plans for some new building project. 

Antiope twists her hips so Evandre’s head can peek round her back at her mother. 

“No. Mama,” sighs the toddler in a tone of frustration she can only have learnt from Hippolyta that makes the two women smile at each other and try not to laugh. Evandre tugs at Antiope’s braid, “Mama now.”

After reassurances that Philippus will be home by supper Evandre gets over her disappointment in being delivered to the wrong mother and happily tells Hippolyta about her adventures with Antiope; her aunt grateful that the phrase ‘then Tiope say’ followed by a vocal recreation of smashing the block city seems to pass without Hippolyta noticing. 

As Evandre has grown ever more vocal situations like this have occurred more frequently; while the girl is very clear on wanting one of her mothers she can’t seem to comprehend why no one understands her and which ‘mama’ she is asking for. 

It hadn’t been a problem with Diana for the simple fact that she had had only one mother. While Philippus had been an ever present aunt and her mother’s closest friend and confidant throughout her young life, Hippolyta had kept any romantic relationship separate from motherhood. As Diana grew more independent and their new nation settled in to a thriving comfortable life, Hippolyta began to run out of excuses to push her desires away and also ran out of tolerance for Antiope’s merciless teasing. Fortunately for Hippolyta, Philippus had the patience of the stars and could wait any number of lifetimes for her Queen to choose her, though she had been thankful the wait had not lasted another hundred years. 

Later that evening after they had all eaten and the baby has been put down to bed Hippolyta, Philippus, Menalippe and Antiope settle around the iron brazier in the courtyard. The smouldering apple wood doesn’t produce a lot of flames but gives off a sweet aroma and more than enough heat for a balmy evening. Around them as they talk orange glowing ash gets caught in the gentle night breeze and swirls in the air before cooling and going dark.

When Diana joins them after spending the day with some of the younger amazons it’s as Menalippe is offering up some of the names the other warriors have suggested for Evandre to call Philippus. As she says each one Antiope and Philippus try to guess who came up with it and they all laugh at the ones that certainly aren’t appropriate for a toddler. From the glint in Philippus’ eye and the smirk she gives at one it may make an appearance in the bedroom from Hippolyta’s lips though. 

As Menalippe finishes Diana asks, “What about papa?” Before anyone can respond she continues, “The children were told by the nuns they were being taken on a long journey to their new mamas and papas. Evandre’s journey brought her here to both of you.”

Hippolyta shakes her head a little as she lowers the wine cup from her lips to rebuff the latest suggestion as she has the others until she looks to Philippus beside her. Diana smirks a little knowing she’s already got her way before Philippus even says, “I think I like it.”

In the coming days Evandre seems to approve of the new name too, finally satisfied with the adults around her doing as she says and getting her the correct mother she asks for. Papa needs to brush her hair in the morning because Mama pulls too hard. While Mama holds her tight on horse rides and reads the greatest bedtime stories and helps her get dressed, Papa is best at cutting up her breakfast and taking her swimming because she lets Evandre splash as much as she likes. 

Then there are the mornings that Evandre climbs into her parents’ bed, awkwardly clambering over Hippolyta to burrow her way beneath the blankets between her and Philippus. As she settles down and closes her eyes the little fingers of one hand curl in her papa’s night shirt and the other tangles in her mama’s hair. These are the times when only both mothers will do.


	7. General

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana has a surprise for Evandre.

“Evandre, please sit still.” 

At her mother’s words Evandre stops pulling herself forward by the edge of the saddle and falls back against Hippolyta’s chest. “Can’t we go faster?” she whines, shoulders slumping as Hippolyta wraps a strong arm across her waist to force her to still. 

Recently riding with Evandre had become as much effort as when she had first come into their lives; then the arm around her had been to keep their baby safe and secure on horseback, now it was to prevent the girl’s constant fidgeting in the saddle from driving her mother to distraction. 

“Diana said we had to meet her at noon. And it’s almost noon. She said my surprise would be ready at noon.” There’s barely a breath between any of Evandre’s words, she’s so determined to make sure her mother understands how serious the situation is that they all rush out at once. She tilts her head back and big watery blue eyes gaze up at Hippolyta. “We have to be there at noon.”

“And we will be.”

Evandre lets out a noise somewhere between a groan of frustration and a growl, sounding like an unhappy bear cub. And it’s an all too familiar sound of late given Evandre seems to find there is a lot to be disgruntled about in being five years old. 

It is entirely unfair to Evandre that she has to go to bed when everyone else can stay up as it gets dark outside. Sometimes lying under her blankets Evandre can hear women still laughing and talking and she can’t help but slip out of her bedroom and try to creep quietly back to the main chambers to listen; the best stories are always told when no one thinks she’s around to hear them. Each time she inevitably gets caught and put back to bed, and if Papa is especially unhappy with her for leaving the room then there is no desserts for days and that’s even worse than having to go to bed early. 

And then there is being made to go to lessons instead of spending her days playing whatever games she likes, running through the terrace gardens or going to the lakes to swim. While Evandre doesn’t have Mnemosyne chasing her around the city as Diana had, the younger princess is a day dreamer; endlessly fascinated with history, art, mathematics and literature until she is forced to sit at a desk. Evandre often feels like whole days vanish as she swings her legs, chin in the palm of her hand and stares out the open window of her classroom. 

But today there is no school and Diana had told Evandre before bedtime the previous night that she had to be a good girl and go to sleep because tomorrow she had a surprise for her. And now it’s tomorrow. 

Over breakfast her mothers and sister had refused to tell Evandre where this surprise would be. Diana had taken her leave to make final preparations and Philippus had reported for her Royal Guard duties which left Evandre to trail after Hippolyta asking ceaseless questions she got no answers to before her mother finally told her to go put her shoes on so they could leave. 

Now as they ride past the square and take the pathway curling back round the coast along the perimeter wall of the city and toward the meadows Evandre thinks she has finally guessed where they might be heading. The girl knows she’s right when a few minutes later the long barn of the horse ranch comes in to view, a row of stalls side by side for up to twenty horses though today there are only a few happily shaded in their stables tearing at bales of hay strung in rope nets and a couple grazing in their enclosures. Not long ago Evandre had been allowed to accompany Antiope when she came to choose new steeds for the army and then there had been two animals to every stall, bands of horses in the larger paddocks and dozens being led to and from the arena where they would demonstrate their agility and strengths for the General. 

Evandre remembers looking at the blur of activity from high upon Nikephoros’ back, sharing the saddle with her aunt and feeling her heart racing with excitement. Then she was on the ground where delight turned to fear that she might get trampled by the beautiful beasts towering over her. Not paying attention to Antiope leading Nikephoros to a hitching rail and distracted by the bustle around her Evandre found herself wandering into the path of a couple of women guiding horses in different directions. Panicked the princess span around, kicking up dust as she danced out the way of one but toward the other until her aunt caught her by the shoulders and pulled the girl against her legs. For the rest of the visit Evandre didn’t let go of Antiope’s hand even once. 

Evandre sees Diana waiting for them by one of the smaller pens feeding a horse with a shining black coat, its mane and tail ebony streaked with russet from the sun’s touch. Her sister holds out her hand flat and the horse nuzzles her palm for the treats she’s holding. When it’s finished eating Diana brushes her hands together to dust off the remains of whatever she had offered and then drags then down her skirt. 

Hippolyta guides Gaia right up to the enclosure and Evandre shifts her body to lunge from the saddle down to Diana’s arms, sure her sister will catch her but is stopped by her mother’s quick grab for the broad leather belt just above her hips. “Don’t you dare young lady.” 

Mindful that her mother would certainly take her back home to the palace, surprise or not, should she disobey, Evandre waits not so patiently for Gaia to slow to a halt and for Hippolyta to lift under her arms and hand her down to Diana. 

“What’s my surprise?” she asks eagerly, hoping the answer will be that Diana is going to take her out riding, this time with their parent’s blessing. Even though Diana always promises Mama and Papa they’ll only trot around the boundaries of the city she sometimes brings Evandre to the meadows and they fly through the tall grass like they’re riding Pegasus, racing so fast Evandre has to close her eyes so the wind doesn’t sting them while her cheeks turn red. 

“I wanted you to meet someone.” Diana sets Evandre on the ground and takes her hand before walking her over to the horse she had been feeding. 

Close up Evandre sees it’s young and nowhere near as big as all the other horses she’s seen, though it is still tall enough that she barely reaches above its belly. With her free hand Diana rubs the horse’s nose and it nickers happily. Speaking to the animal Diana gently pulls Evandre closer, “this is my baby sister I was telling you about.”

“Hello horse,” Evandre says, addressing it directly as Diana had. Then she turns to her sister and whispers like she doesn’t want to be overheard, “is she a boy horse or a girl horse?” 

Hippolyta now standing behind them lets out a soft laugh and Diana smiles as she answers, “She is a girl horse.”

Evandre reaches up stretching out her fingers and the horse lowers its head to meet them with its nose and Diana lets her own hand fall away. At the change the horse gives a snort making Evandre giggle. “What’s her name?” 

Diana watches the girl running her hand up and down the coat that glistens bronze in the sunlight. “She doesn’t have one yet. I thought you should give her one.”

Evandre turns her attention back to Diana, her face scrunched up in confusion. Aunt Antiope let her name one of the new horses for the army that wasn’t going to belong to any one warrior, she’d called him Flaouna as he’d been the same golden colour as the pastries. But she’s unsure why she should get to name one of the ranch’s horses that will surely go to another amazon soon. 

Diana can see Evandre doesn’t yet understand. She crouches down beside her sister and gives her hand a little tug as she says, “She’s yours.” 

The girl whips her head round to their mother to check she’s not being teased. She’s only ever been allowed to ride a horse on her own during lessons and they were only ponies and always in the small training yard. Around the city she has to ride with her mothers or sister or aunts. And now they’re telling her she has her own horse.

“Really Mother? She’s mine?”

“She is.” 

Evandre throws herself into Diana’s arms almost knocking her back onto the ground. The horse now no longer getting any attention or food is happy to wander to a patch of grass at the base of a fence post unconcerned by the commotion as Evandre squeals happily and thanks her sister and then wraps her arms around her mother’s legs, thanking her too. 

While Hippolyta gets the saddle and tack together she and Philippus had had made once Diana came to them with her suggestion, Diana lets Evandre feed the horse. As the animal gently licks and snorts against her small palm Evandre listens to Diana explain all the things the girl will have to learn to take care of her and Evandre agrees enthusiastically to every one.

Evandre tries to be calm and still and not fuss as her mother and sister get her settled on the saddle and then adjust the bridle, reins and stirrups to suit both girl and animal. As the older women leave her to mount their own horses Evandre feels a nervous flutter in her chest but once Gaia and Diana’s horse Astraea are either side of her the anxious feeling dies down from the heavy beating of bird wings to something more like delicate butterflies. A couple of times on their journey back home the butterflies grow feathers and strong wings but mostly Evandre finds the ride exhilarating even at the slow pace their mother sets.

In the large front courtyard of the palace Philippus is running the Guards through drills when her family return, Hippolyta and Diana’s large milk white mares flanking a pitch black horse barely bigger than a cart pony. Philippus calls out for the regiment to rest and there’s a clatter of helmets, spears, shields and fatigued bodies raining down on stone as the general heads over to her very excited girl. 

“Look Papa, Diana’s surprise was a pony.”

“I see.” She strokes the dark withers and the horse shudders happily under her touch. Diana has done well, Philippus can tell the horse is an excellent choice as it stands calmly despite the girl rocking in the saddle on its back and legs kicking about in the stirrups. She does decides she should help the poor animal out though and not subject it to too much Evandre on their first day together, moving her hand to her daughter’s leg and pressing gently to stop the excited movements. 

“So, what’s she called?”

Evandre had been thinking about a name for the entire ride home, distracted as her mother tried to remind her how to squeeze her legs gently to guide her horse and not pull on the reins too hard and Diana reassured her how well she was doing. 

“Her name’s General. Because she’s tall and strong and really beautiful. Like Antiope.” Evandre doesn’t seem to notice Diana staring fixedly down at the reins in her hands with a smirk on her lips, or the look her mothers’ share, Hippolyta shaking her head at her Consort’s wide grin.

After some convincing Evandre reluctantly lets her papa help her down from her saddle and they lead the horses over to the stables. Evandre excitedly shares every detail of the afternoon’s adventure with Philippus who now holds General’s reins in one hand and swings the other along with her daughter’s as they hold hands. The little horse seems to have taken a liking to Gaia, trailing at her flank and brushing her face up against her so when they are handed over to the attendants Hippolyta allows them to stay in the same stall until General settles into her new home. 

As Hippolyta is lifting Evandre to reach over the stable door to say goodbye to her horse for the evening Philippus leans in to Diana conspiratorially to mutter, “Who gets to tell Antiope?”


	8. Be a Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hippolyta struggles with her baby girl growing up.

Philippus catches her daughter’s sandals as the five year old finishes unknotting the leather lacing and tosses them away from her, scrambling to her feet and toward the water before either mother can change their mind about her being allowed to play on her own. They are sat beside one of the more secluded lakes in the valley, Philippus and Hippolyta having taken the day to spend time together as a family away from the palace and the city, responsibilities and distractions. 

Of course they are accompanied by two of the Queen’s Guard; Venelia and Melo hold position in the shade of a stand of trees talking quietly to each other as they tend to the horses. Philippus has no doubt Venelia is regaling Melo with details of her latest tryst as she sees Melo blush and Venelia stifle a laugh, at least in that Venelia seems mindful of the fact that they are both technically still on duty. 

“Let them enjoy the afternoon Philippus,” her wife admonishes from the spot beside her as she is caught once again throwing glances at her soldiers. Hippolyta is laying out on the blanket they’d spread on the ground; she wears a supple leather bodice that much to Philippus’ delight reveals an impressive amount of cleavage as she props herself up on one elbow and the panels of her shimmering green skirt have fallen to leave one leg bare up to her thigh, a seemingly infinite stretch of bronzed muscle. Philippus’ mind wanders to plans of bringing Hippolyta back here again when Diana or Menalippe and Antiope can watch their daughter and she almost misses the apple that Hippolyta tosses to her, fumbling as it hits her chest.

While her wife laughs over her not so sharp reflexes Philippus turns her attention back to Evandre down at the water. It’s a shallow pool fed by a gently tumbling waterfall from the bigger lakes above. Along the shoreline are a number of large flat rocks like stepping stones out into the crystal blue waters. Barefoot Evandre springs from rock to rock like a wild cat playing in the sun, the unsteady gait of a toddler long gone, replaced by this sure-footed little girl. 

“She’d make quick work of Niobe’s agility course,” Philippus remarks around a bite of the apple. 

They both know it’s only meant half in jest. As Evandre grows, talk of her beginning to train has only grown too. Hippolyta gazes at their daughter wistfully as Evandre lands in a crouch, palms flat against the stone she blows a puff of air up to get the hair that has escaped her braid from out of her eyes; that pale blonde hair still as fine as when she was a baby. And Hippolyta’s heart leaps just as much in her chest when the girl over balances and tumbles in to the lake with a splash and a happy shriek as when she had first started to walk and would cry out for her mother if she fell.

“She’s too young Philippus, let her be a child a while longer.” 

Philippus nods in acceptance if not agreement and then leans in to her wife, resting her cheek against Hippolyta’s bare shoulder and watching Evandre pull herself back up onto the rocks, calling out to her mothers to watch her as she resumes playing. 

And they do, watching day after day pass and their little girl delights in each new discovery she makes in the world around her, turning every task into a game and filling their lives with endless mess and questions and joy.

On one of those days Hippolyta arranges to ride out to the training grounds to meet with Antiope and formally inspect her army, with her baby pouting over having to accompany her mother and leave behind the latest manuscript she had gotten from the library, where Clio keeps aside stories and poems that would please the child but also passes the approval of her mothers. When Diana had been younger she would beg and plead to come along but Evandre is a very different child, Hippolyta only managing to coax her with the promise that once she is done they can ride back to the palace taking the long route round the city and Evandre will do anything to spend more time with her horse, General. 

When they arrive Hippolyta enjoys making Antiope follow all the ceremonial protocols, not for her own vanity but for the amusement of her sister’s discomfort. Once it is out the way though Hippolyta simply enjoys the company of Antiope and the warriors as she is lead through some demonstrations at the archery ranges, sees Artemis take on a dozen of their sisters in hand to hand combat and proudly watches Diana best Egeria in sword play. 

The afternoon sun has started to dip in the sky by the time they are done, most of the warriors now gathering and packing away equipment and weapons before they end their day together in the pools soaking bruised bodies and aching muscles. The guards that accompanied their Queen mingle with the soldiers, offering help as they talk about the day and their plans once night falls. Walking back to the south terrace wall where the horses are the sisters discuss Antiope’s request for new weapons, deployment plans to the villages and the next round of training for their reserve forces. 

“You know Evandre should begin training soon.” There is no need for Antiope to bother with a pretence of casually offering to help should the Queen decide it was time. As with Diana, Antiope would do her duty as an amazon, an aunt and a general; she just hoped this time would not have to be behind her sister’s back. 

Diana had spent far too many hours in the terraces above the training ground avoiding her studies and tutors, watching and imitating, waiting desperately for her time to be a warrior. As the women reach the same area now they see Evandre sitting in the grass making a chain of flowers with swift fingers, occasionally stretching her arms away from herself to keep her creation from of the mouth of General, both utterly indifferent to the goings on around them. Hippolyta had always known in her heart she was never going to keep Diana from following a warriors path but if Evandre wishes to spend her days picking flowers then Hippolyta will do whatever it takes to make that so. 

“She has no interest in this life.”

“That is not why she needs to learn and you know it Hippolyta.” 

There is no venom in Antiope’s voice but Hippolyta bristles regardless. 

“Enough. She is happy with flowers and books and horses. She has no need of a sword.”

And Hippolyta feels her point is more than made when she returns home from the Senate just days later to find Epione wrapping Evandre’s arm with a bandage. The girl is sat on the edge of the cleared dining table holding out her arm for the healer to finish her work, head down and eyes fixed on her feet as she kicks back and forth.

“It’s just a scratch my Queen, nothing too concerning.” Epione addresses Hippolyta directly but as she finishes speaking ducks her head to try to catch Evandre’s eye, tying off the bandage and lowering the girls arm. Evandre doesn’t look in any pain but is definitely anxious of her mother’s reaction as Hippolyta moves to her side.

“All done,” Epione announces telling the child to keep it dry for a day or so and then instructing Hippolyta to remove the dressing to wash the wound in the mornings and summon her if there are any complications. It’s been a long time since the then future Queen had knelt beside Epione cleaning the wounds of their sisters after skirmishes and battles but Epione recognises that same pain now in her old friend’s eyes. As she moves to leaves the healer lays a reassuring hand on Hippolyta’s arm, “don’t be too hard on them. It really is only a minor injury.”

At those words Hippolyta realises Diana is also in the room, standing against the wall by the dresser seeming immensely interested in the golden plates and goblets. In trying to go unnoticed by her mother Diana neglects to conceal from sight the wooden practice swords she is holding half behind her back, the dull blades not quite hidden by her leg. 

Slowly striding toward Diana, Hippolyta dismisses Evandre with a quick glance over her shoulder, “go to your room Evandre.” 

Given how much Diana enjoyed testing Hippolyta’s patience as a child there have been remarkably few times in Diana’s life where she has gotten her mother this angry or upset with her. But it is Evandre who speaks up behind her. 

“Am I in trouble?” her youngest daughter asks in a quiet voice.

Hippolyta gives Diana a look that clearly tells her she is not done yet then turns back to Evandre, hesitantly touching the bandages as the little girl mutters, “Diana didn’t mean to hurt me. I fell when we were playing.”

As though she didn’t hear her daughter’s statement Hippolyta tells Evandre, “you’re not in trouble but I would like you to go to your room.” When she still hesitates Hippolyta reassures her, “I know Diana didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

“Is she in trouble?” 

When Evandre realises that question isn’t getting an answer she hops off the table with Hippolyta’s help. For a moment it looks as though she wants to go to Diana but upon weighing the decision decides it best not to defy their mother and runs off to her bedroom. 

Hippolyta lays both hands flat against the table top, leaning heavily on her arms as she closes her eyes. 

“Mother.”

Hippolyta doesn’t even let Diana begin, hand lifting and then sharply slamming back to the polished wood before turning to her oldest child. 

“No Diana. It is too dangerous. She could have been hurt far worse than this.” It feels to Hippolyta like the words rip all the anger out of her heart as they pass her lips, which would be a relief if not for the crushing fear that is left behind. 

They stand facing off against each other, neither speaking. There are no apologies or excuses but of course Hippolyta’s heart softens when she notices her daughter’s red rimmed eyes, raising one hand to stroke Diana’s cheek and feeling the dried tears that stain it. 

“No more fighting.” It’s barely above a whisper but Hippolyta can make even the quietest words a command.

“Yes Mother.”

Hippolyta is at least grateful her family wait until Evandre’s arm has healed before the subject of training is broached again. They’re all sat around the long table where they had shared their evening meal, talking until the light of the candles softens as the flames flicker inside the hollows of the melted wax. 

Diana volunteers to put Evandre to bed, taking her yawning and sleepily protesting sister from Menalippe’s lap where she’d been curled up with her thumb between her lips watching everyone with heavy eyes. Diana’s arms cross beneath Evandre holding her against her hip and the little girl wraps her herself around Diana’s neck. Dutifully she leans back to kiss each of her aunts and mothers goodnight before nuzzling in to Diana’s shoulder as she is carried from the room.

Diana returns a short while later to a room filled with tension, her mother’s face stony as she refuses to hear out any more of their proposals for Evandre to take up training. 

“Everyone out.” Philippus announces suddenly rising from her seat. No one argues with her. The chairs of Menalippe and Antiope scrape across the stone floor as they stand away from the table and Diana hovers at the door until Menalippe places a hand on her shoulder, the gentle pressure of her grasp meant to encourage her niece to leave with them. 

Hippolyta moves as though to rise also but Philippus holds out a hand to ask her to wait. “Let me speak Hippolyta.” Her wife’s deep voice has an edge of steel and Hippolyta knows Philippus has ran out of patience. 

Philippus doesn’t look to Hippolyta as she paces at the head of the table, the movement helping her to find the words for what has been troubling her for a while now. “In matters of State I am your Consort. I can offer counsel but I understand that you are Queen, and your decisions are your own and final.” Then she pauses and locks her eyes, now black pools in the faded light, with Hippolyta’s shadowed in grey. “In matters of our family however, I am your wife. You do not get to simply dismiss me.”

Suitably chastised Hippolyta drops her gaze to the table, always unable to hold another’s eye when she knows she’s in the wrong. And Philippus finds herself thinking not for the first time just how remarkably alike her wife and daughter are. 

“You’re right. Of course, you’re right.” Getting up from the table Hippolyta closes the distance between them but once standing before Philippus hesitates a moment with her hands held before her. Philippus gives a weak smile and then takes them in her own. “Can you forgive me?”

“Forgiving you is never the problem Lyta. If you will not listen...”

“I will,” Hippolyta swears before Philippus can say any more. Aside from not wanting to hurt her partner further and make her feel of any less value than she is, Hippolyta also cannot forget the consequences of their previous disagreement when the Queen of the Amazons found herself sharing her youngest daughter’s bed having been banished from her own. 

They move to settle on the bench by the fire so Philippus can speak her piece. Evandre is old enough to begin training, appropriately of course. She is certainly not suggesting throwing their daughter straight into a fighting pit against Artemis but they can no longer spend all the time she is not in school running around after her. Evandre’s boundless energy should be focused in to the skills and discipline all amazons must learn, even if they are not destined to fight beside Antiope every day but to weave fishing nets, raise cattle or sculpt clay. 

Philippus’ words are those Hippolyta has always known to be true in her heart but her doubts have been louder. She had been so scared for Diana’s strength to grow greater than that of an amazon, where she would be beyond their protection; with Evandre she worries the girl might never be as strong and only wishes to keep her from harm. Watery fear shines in her eyes and a single tear escapes with a blink. Before Hippolyta can swipe it away Philippus brushes her cheek. 

“She is not an amazon like the rest of us.”

“As I recall you said the same thing about Diana once.” With Philippus smirking Hippolyta can’t help but roll her eyes and her chest feels a little less tight for the first time this evening.

“It’s different Philippus.”

“I will arrange a training programme for her myself. No combat. She will be safe Lyta.”

They walk the corridors together talking quietly, nodding to the few women still about their duties or heading to their own quarters in the palace. They agree to focus their daughter on riding and archery, a regime that will grow and adapt as Evandre does. Reaching Evandre’s room Philippus eases the door open with barely a whisper. 

The fires Diana would have lit when she took Evandre to bed earlier are dying down behind their protective woven-metalwork guards but the room is still sufficiently lit to see Evandre in bed with the furs and blankets tucked up tight under her chin. And above her, almost lost in the blonde curls freed from their braid, rests Diana’s head. Philippus is happy to stand beside Hippolyta a while as she gazes at her sleeping daughters. After a time she wraps an arm about her wife’s waist and with a feather light murmur against Hippolyta’s ear draws her off to their own bed.


	9. Take a Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evandre has an eventful day at training

 

Menalippe can hear Antiope before she reaches the top of the grassy steps heading up from the sparring area.

“Keep your shoulders down, Evandre.”

She sighs. Even though Menalippe had been drilling with short swords all morning her wife’s voice carried clearly and the air had been filled with Antiope’s exasperated instructions to their niece.

“Stand straight, Evandre.”

“Relax your fingers, Evandre.”

The poor girl was probably sick of hearing her own name by now.

Menalippe clears the steps and walks straight to the General. When Antiope sees her approach she gives a pained smile and Menalippe isn’t sure who she feels sorry for the most; neither the other woman nor the girl seems to be having a good a day.

Evandre shuffles on the spot of dirt where countless archers before her have worn away the grass. Running through what is now almost reflex she positions her feet shoulder width apart, straightens her back and turns her shoulders square to the target. Her blonde hair has started to come loose from the braid Diana had put in last night; they’d sat on Evandre’s bed with the girl nestled between her older sister’s knees as her wet hair had been plaited and Diana told her stories of when she was younger. Now blonde strands tickle at her face but if she drops her stance to swipe it away Antiope would only find it an excuse to bark at her.

She’d lost count of the number of arrows she’d fired already this morning but she was quickly growing tired of practice that only involved standing yards from the straw shield targets. The open field behind her place of eternal torment is where she would rather be. There warriors practiced retrieving dropped swords and shields while remaining on horseback or dismounting with backflips and taking shots at the targets along the sea fence as they rode past.

Evandre would love to do that. She could do that, she’s sure of it. At the last games her mother held she’d come fifth out of twenty others competing in the archery and she’d only been eleven then. She’d had a whole year more to practice since, and she’d been riding even longer than she’d been using a bow. The backflips were easy too she thought, from the ground at least. Of course no one had let her try from a horse but she’d been sneaking off to the waterfalls for a few years now and leaping from the rocks into the deep pools, twisting herself in the air as she did.

She’d nocked the arrow, extended her arm and drawn back the bow without any real thought but the daydreaming caused her to miss the centre target and Antiope, stalking like a lion, did not let it go unnoticed.

“Evandre, pay attention.”

It took an enormous amount of will power not to growl back at her aunt. Instead she took a deep breath. “I’m sorry General.”

“Don’t apologise, do better.”

General Antiope was nowhere near as fun as Aunt Antiope. 

Standing beside her wife, Menalippe makes sure to keep her voice low for only Antiope to hear her question, “why are you so hard on her today?”

She knows she’ll have to wait for an answer as Antiope’s attention remains on Evandre drawing her next arrow. When it hits a perfect target Antiope gives an approving nod.

“She’s good. Very good. If she only shows a little more focus.”

“Right now she can only focus on when you’re going to shout at her next.”

Antiope looks honestly affronted at the suggestion. “I do not shout.”

Menalippe gives her wife an incredulous look before deciding it’s time to step in. Her duties as second in command are not just to Antiope but to her fellow soldiers, and on many an occasion she has spared a sister from the General’s earnest attentions.

Evandre has let a couple more arrows fly and is more than a little tempted to take aim at a passing gull when Menalippe calls for a break. The rest of the amazons begin to gather in groups, mostly in the central area of the grounds where the fighting platforms and archer targets are, making their way up from the sparring areas. They relax in the grass, leaning against the stone terrace or in the shade of the hedge walls, some lounge with heads in each other’s laps. Water is passed around, bread and nuts shared from hessian bags.

The girl grasps her bow and loiters beside the range, trying to decide if she wants to join one of the groups or keep practicing. Her thumb rubs back and forth absently in the grip, crafted so perfectly that it feels as though she’d worn down the wood herself with her hand. The bow certainly wouldn’t get mistaken for anyone else’s equipment mainly as it’s about half the size of a regular bow but it is also beautifully and uniquely carved with dark figures of deer wrapping around the blonde wood. It had been a present from her Papa when she was still a too small to use it properly, so until she’d grown a little more her mother had had to wrestle it from her every bedtime and she’d still come in to find Evandre snuggled around it by morning.

Deciding to take a break Evandre looks across the gathered amazons searching for Trigona and Otrera, who had abandoned her this morning with sympathetic pats on the shoulder to go practice their horseback skills but realises they had not returned at Menalippe’s call. Evandre ducks behind the greenery partition to the riding field and sees Otrera has her horse barrelling across the arena. She effortlessly flips from his back and lets loose an arrow at the hanging target. As soon as the horse realises it’s lost its rider it slows to a well-trained halt. A brief whistle would bring him back to Otrera’s side but Evandre quickly runs to grab his reins and leads him over to where Otrera is now having her technique appraised by her closest friend and greatest rival, Trigona.

“Little Princess, please tell our sister she is not straightening her knees enough when she fires.”

Usually Evandre bristles when the other warriors point out she’s either a princess (so is Diana and she could best every one of them) or that she’s little (she’s almost up to Antiope’s shoulder now but they are not to speak of that ever). But Evandre spends most of her training time with these two women and it’s easy to take their teasing with the affection it’s intended when she knows they both respect her abilities and treat her seriously.

Honestly, she hadn’t been watching on this occasion but Evandre had seen Otrera do the trick a thousand times and equally seen her hit the clay jar targets a thousand times so was confident in answering that surely it didn’t matter if Otrera was straightening her knees enough. Otrera is pleased and squeezes Evandre’s shoulder in thanks while Trigona launches in to a dissection of the whole manoeuvre; breaking down how fast the horse should be going before bringing the right leg over the saddle and beginning to roll onto the back, the optimum positioning of the left leg for balance and momentum, keeping eyes trained on the targets to fire as you spin in the air and of course straightening the knees before the second volley.

Otrera rolls her eyes but patiently lets their friend finish before reaching to Evandre for Petra’s reins, “let’s go sit with the others, I’m thirsty. And could use the better company.” She smirks at Trigona before giving Evandre a wink.

Keeping her grip Evandre offers to tie Petra with the other two horses by the troughs at the end of the field. When the women hesitate she assures them she already had water and it wouldn’t be a bother at all. As Evandre leads the grey stallion away Trigona and Otrera wander across to their sisters, laughing and nudging into each other as they walk.

Petra is almost twice the size of Evandre’s horse General, with thick shoulders and solid legs that would make an infantry soldier wonder if a charging mountain was coming down on top of them. General on the other hand is all lean muscle, swift and sharp. The girl hesitates at the post, fingers wrapped in the leather straps but doesn’t tie them off. This may be the first time she’s ever been alone on the field, with no one to watch her; the sounds of the other amazons enjoying their first break of the day are faint and it feels like they could be miles away. If she tries the manoeuvre herself now Evandre thinks, does it just the once, it will show she’s as capable as any other amazon and Antiope will have to let her do something more exciting than target practice.

There’s a little voice in the back of her mind, which sounds unsurprisingly like her mother, telling her she knows she’s not supposed to be doing this. It says ‘do not get on that horse’ but she hops onto the railing and then clambers on to Petra’s broad back. Nudging his belly with her heels and tugging lightly at the reins she pulls him away from the oats and corn and steers him into a quick loop of the arena, getting a feel for his gait before wheeling round to start the charge down the field.

When she rolls from the saddle Evandre spots the terracotta target against the warm blue of the sky, the green of the grass a flash above the blue. She feels the fletch brush the top of her hand but can’t be sure if the arrow hits the target or not as her eyes drop to the ground which is approaching far more rapidly than she can finish her turn. Evandre doesn’t feel the moment she hits, there’s just a flash of white before she blinks to clear her vision and the blue sky is back above her and she can feel the grass under her arms and legs and the back of her neck.

Everything sounds a little like she’s swimming under water but she’s sure she can hear Trigona shouting her name. Flexing her left hand she finds her bow is no longer in her grasp and knows Papa will be so mad if she’s broken it and wonders who she will be in trouble with the most, Papa, Mother or Antiope. The girl flattens her right hand out to push herself up, lifting her shoulders from the ground and suddenly there’s pain like nothing she’s ever felt. Her shoulder burns white hot, licking down her arm like wild fire. Somehow the pain also hits her belly and she’s sure she’s going to be sick.

There’s a brief moment where Evandre thinks the worst possible outcome will be the humiliation of throwing up on herself as she gives up on the idea of being able to move but before she knows what’s happening someone rolls her to her side and she vomits in the grass, promptly following that with a scream as she’s laid back down.

Hands are then running down her arms and feeling under her hips checking for broken bones and she squeezes her eyes shut, the blazing sun blotching her vision. When she feels shade fall over her she opens them again. Antiope is there, face pressed close to hers and Evandre wonders how while all the voices around her are still muffled, she can so clearly hear the hammering of her Aunt’s heart just above her.

Antiope presses a hand to Evandre’s chest, “Try not to move.” And Evandre gives a somewhat delirious laugh at the idea of moving at all. Artemis is beside her too now, Evandre hears her voice rumble something to Antiope before there’s a burst of pain as a saddle blanket is folded between her arm and the side of her chest and Antiope’s fingers guide her to bend her elbow and lay her forearm across her middle.

Fortunately there’s no more throwing up and laid like this the pain has eased enough she can breathe easier. Oh, Evandre realises she’d been gasping for panicky breathes since they’d rolled her to her back. She should probably concentrate on bringing her breathing under control, use the techniques she learnt during training. Instead she pleads with Antiope, “Don’t tell Mother.”

Tears stream down the sides of her face, dripping to the ground and uncomfortably pooling in her ears. She wants to beg her aunt ‘please don’t tell her I tried the stunt when I was told not to’, ‘that I failed spectacularly at it’, ‘that I threw up on the training ground’. Maybe she does try to say the words but certainly nothing comprehensible passes her lips.

Thankfully right now its Aunt Antiope and not General Antiope beside Evandre, stroking her uninjured shoulder and wiping away some of the tears. “Hush. I am in far more trouble than you will be,” she reassures her niece. “A healer is coming, just stay still.”

Those words are barely out of Antiope’s mouth when Epione comes skidding to her knees on the ground beside them. Her hands do the same as those before so at least one of the warriors had paid attention to their lectures on field triage. Antiope cradles Evandre’s neck to raise her up a little while Epione holds a small glass bottle to her mouth.

The girl closes her lips tight and struggles to move her face away but Antiope holds her head still and breaths close to her ear, “drink Evandre.” The girl lets out a pitiful whimper but gives in and swallows. It tastes disgusting, like bitter earth. Her aunt continues to sooth her as she lays her head back down. “Good girl. The medicine will work soon and then we can set your shoulder.”

“Aunt Antiope?”

“Yes child.”

“I changed my mind, I want Mama.” Antiope looks down at Evandre’s wide crystal blue eyes swimming with tears and fear and gives a comforting smile. Evandre had heard other amazons joking around saying Antiope never smiles, and some cruder comments about what Menalippe must do to get a smile out of her which made Evandre blush hot red, but all Evandre’s memories are filled with her aunt smiling.

“I already sent Menalippe to get your mother. She’ll be here soon.”

Evandre feels light headed now and the vicious stabbing in her shoulder is easing into a deep ache. Antiope moves a little out of her view and Evandre watches trails of white clouds brush through the sky like they’re in a lazy race. Then blonde hair is falling against her forehead and Hippolyta appears kneeling above and takes Evandre’s face in her hands.

“Mama.” The word slurs from Evandre’s lips.

Hippolyta murmurs to her, “I’m here baby. Everything will be alright.”

There’s a discussion above her and once they decide the potion Epione gave has done its job they help Evandre to sit up with her back against Hippolyta’s knees. Then her mother’s arms are round her waist tight and she wants to object how hard her mother is squeezing her but can’t say anything before Epione is holding Evandre’s arm out and rotating it around the shoulder joint. Mercifully it pops back in to place before Evandre finishes considering her options to make it all stop, which include but are not limited to screaming and biting.

A wave of exhaustion passes over Evandre with the immediate relief from the agony of her shoulder and the girl only wants to slump back into her mother’s arms but Antiope’s hands continue to hold her upright so Epione can tie a square of fabric round her neck and flattens it out to pin Evandre’s arm tight to her chest. As she is allowed to lie back her Papa arrives, a fierce dark storm on horseback. Practically leaping out of the saddle Philippus looks as though she might just rip both of Antiope’s arms right out of their sockets as she strides to them.

“It was my fault.” Evandre has to say it a couple of times to get anyone’s attention. Hippolyta’s hand strokes hair away from her daughter’s brow kissing the top of her head to quiet her but she struggles to get out, “it was my fault. Antiope didn’t know. She always told me no.”

Philippus seems placated by her daughters words but no happier. However yelling at her sister-in-law will have to wait while she and Hippolyta direct those around them as required to get Evandre to her unsteady feet and then up onto the saddle with Hippolyta. 

The ride back to the palace is slow and painful even with Evandre’s arm strapped up and the drowsiness increasing from whatever Epione had made her drink. Evandre sits side on in the saddle and leans her good shoulder in to her mother, head buried against Hippolyta’s throat and it feels like when she was a baby, her mother strong and steady with an arm around her and the gentle sway of the horses gait making her feel safe.

Getting down from Gaia is just as agonising as getting up but then she’s in her Papa’s strong arms being carried through the palace. Evandre blinks and they’re already at the door to her room, another and she’s in bed, a light cover over her and sides bolstered by cushions. The air feels thick but the fires aren’t lit, it’s only heavy with voices; her mothers’ both hushed and commanding at the same time, Epione’s calm tone, a hum from Antiope and Diana may have arrived too but Evandre is finally giving in to sleep and the sounds slip away.

The girl wakes with a start and for a moment wonders why she can’t get her arm to move to scratch the annoying ticklish sensation on the bridge of her nose. She doesn’t even realise she’s struggling against the sling until Antiope is telling her to be calm. Evandre stills and then with the growing wakefulness a wave of pain hits. Antiope quickly reaches to the side table and picks up a little bottle, uncapping it and bringing the emerald tinted glass up for Evandre to drink. The woman’s lips twitch at the face her niece pulls, not having seen that look since they had tried to get her to eat green peppers when she was still a baby. Without argument and barely a raised eyebrow from Antiope, Evandre does as she’s told and takes a mouthful.

Antiope stoppers the bottle and returns it to the table before pouring water from the jug into a wooden cup and offering a few sips to Evandre to wash away the after taste. Taking the cup back she realises Evandre is searching the room for Hippolyta or Philippus.

“You’ve been asleep for hours. Diana finally persuaded your mothers to take the time to bathe and eat before you woke, so you shall have to pretend to be asleep when they return. I do not want to get in to further trouble with them.”

The words were meant to tease but Evandre’s eyes instantly fill with tears. “I’m sorry,” she say meekly, then quickly adding, “It wasn’t Trigona or Otrera’s fault either.”

Antiope sighs. She reaches out to brush the white-gold hair from Evandre’s face, running the back of her fingers down the girl’s cheeks.

“What were you thinking?”

“I just” Evandre struggles to find the words, as she does she fidgets in the bed and the cushions supporting her slip. Antiope fusses over her to set them straight, patiently waiting for her answer.

“I want to be as good as everyone else.”

Antiope sits at Evandre’s feet, nudging them further toward the back of the bed to make room for herself. “Look at me Evandre.”

The tone doesn’t sound like Antiope will tell her off but nothing her mama or papa says that starts with ‘look at me’ ends well.

“Do you think I could beat Artemis in hand to hand combat? Could Artemis catch Venelia in a foot race? Can anyone best Menalippe with a spear?”

The answer to all those questions is definitely no. She’s seen them all demonstrated at enough games to know that to be true. Antiope eagerly steps up to the challenge of facing Artemis each year and their greatest warrior either promptly or after a few agonising rounds ends up on her behind in the dirt.

“We cannot measure ourselves against each other. We must only try to compete against ourselves, find what we think are our limits and go beyond them.”

Evandre lowers her face, cheeks a little hot as she takes in Antiope’s words and realises how foolish she was, even though her aunt is kind enough not to actually say that to her.

“Epione says you need a few days rest and then we must begin exercises to get your strength back. I will not have my best archer going to waste.” Antiope finishes with a tap under Evandre’s chin.

“How can I be the best if I’m not to compare myself to anyone else?” Antiope is pleased to see Evandre’s cheeky grin is back; the talk and the medicine must both be working.

“You shouldn’t compare,” Antiope emphasises the ‘you’ with another tap, this time to the girl’s good shoulder though still with a light touch. “I am the General, I get to judge all of you.” Antiope can tell the laugh that escapes Evandre is against her best efforts not to show she’s amused.

They hear footsteps coming down the corridor toward the room and Antiope gently pushes Evandre back against the bedding and leans in close to whisper, “pretend to be asleep remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My planned chapters take a bit of a jump ahead in Evandre's timeline so no more baby amazon for the moment. I think I might miss writing her though so am happy to take suggestions for possible stories/chapters to come back to later and see if they inspire anything.


	10. With Papa's Help

Sculpted of Clay and Risen from the Ocean   
Chapter Ten- With Papa’s Help

After a long hot day shut in the senate chambers Hippolyta regrets, and not for the first time, her decision to house the assemblies of Themyscira’s leaders away from her throne room. Carved from a hilltop above the city the open side of the throne room gives a sweeping view out over the island but more importantly allows the gentle breezes to move across pools of crystal clear water behind the rows of seating to cool the air. Whereas the senate floor, even with its high vaulted ceiling, inevitably becomes airless and stifling and by hour five sat with her Senators the Queen had found herself daydreaming of mountain storms and frosty lakes rather than paying attention to the proceedings. 

Though it has made Hippolyta appreciate all the more her walk back to the palace through the city and today Timandra walks with her. As Senator, Timandra represents Hippolyta’s people in the Northern mountain ranges, another lifetime ago she served as an advisor to the warrior Queen during their fight for freedom from mankind. But enjoying the late afternoon sun on her shoulders, the air filled with scents from a dozen kitchens preparing for an amazon to return home for the evening and birds singing in the trees they pass, Hippolyta is reluctant to discuss either legislature or warfare. 

“How is Nushaba? It seems far too long since I last saw her.”

Timandra is always ardent when speaking about or for her people but she burns with passion when she discusses her wife. Hippolyta listens raptly to her friend as she shares the words of Nushaba’s latest letter carrying news of harvest time on their vineyard; of the entire village labouring together through demanding days under the sun followed by evenings celebrating their fortunes beneath starlight and lantern strung trees before starting all over again the following morning. 

“I do not know how you do it Timandra, to be apart for so long a time.” 

While the senate is in session Timandra could spend weeks in the city while her wife tends the vineyard. Menalippe and Antiope have been together for just as long and can barely be parted for a day; Hippolyta had learnt early on in their relationship that where one was sent the other would inevitably follow so it was easier to assign them together to scouting missions, out hunting or on training exercises. She and Philippus had only shared their lives with such intimacy a fraction of the time but Hippolyta aches the days they do not see each other. 

Timandra smiles at her a little sadly, yet still smiles. “It makes returning all the sweeter my Queen.”

They part company at the palace gates, Timandra making her way to the town house she shares while in the city, eggshell white stone walls draped in blue flowers, while Hippolyta and her two guards enter the courtyard. The guards take their posts outside the main doorway to the royal apartments and the Queen goes first to her bed chamber intent on discarding the golden ceremonial armour; she would much prefer to wear her leathers while seated all day but the amazons still hold to their traditions and rituals and so she must dress the part of ruler. At the foot of her bed Hippolyta tries to unbuckle the straps but can’t get the angle she needs to free the hook from the leather, muttering to herself as she struggles that this task is far easier with Philippus’ to help. 

As if summoned by the words her wife’s voice drifts from the balcony that runs the length of their private quarters. Shuttered doors can be opened from every room leading out on to it and she pushes open the bedroom door to find her wife and daughter by the open doorway to their dining room, sat at the wrought iron table shoulder to shoulder before a scattered pile of parchments and clothbound books. 

Hippolyta can’t make out the subject of the writings from where she’s stood but Philippus’ dark hand brushes along a yellowed page pointing Evandre in the direction she needs to take, guiding her toward answers but the girl groans at not having the solution simply given to her and drops her head to the table dramatically. 

Leaning against the door frame Hippolyta takes the time to watch them. Philippus smiles as she coaxes Evandre to sit back up and to try again; instead the girl pushes back her chair and paces behind it and her mother, shaking out her arms like she’s preparing for battle not books. She’s grown so much Hippolyta thinks, strong from the bow and bronzed by the sun but still ungainly as a baby deer. Surely it was only days ago she was following Hippolyta around like a duckling, her little hand tightly gripping at her mother’s skirts. Now their daughter can disappear for whole days alone; riding off on General with only her bow and a satchel of charcoal, chalks and leaves of paper bound in sturdy leather; and whatever food Larina thrusts in to Evandre’s hands if she catches her trying to leave the palace without any provisions. 

Evandre’s first ventures out in to the world alone had of course been nothing of the sort, Venelia or Aella trailing her every step through fields and woods. Eventually though Philippus worked her charms on her wife to allow Evandre some genuine freedom. When the girl would return late after the evening meal and curl up against Hippolyta’s side, Philippus was never quite sure whether it was to reassure her mama that she was home safe and sound or to comfort herself after a long and quiet day with no company but her own. 

More than once Philippus had to carry their growing daughter to her bed like a worn out toddler, Hippolyta following behind with Evandre’s satchel. Once tucked in beneath the covers they would sit beside her bed and slowly turn through the pages of drawings in the sketchbook, following in the girl’s footsteps; green meadows and white waterfalls, wild birds in flight, flowers stretching in a gentle wind, ocean waves crashing against rocks. Their girl has a gift for capturing the beauty of the world on a page.

Iole, one of Themyscira’s most celebrated painters, had already offered to apprentice the young princess should she decide to follow the arts after her schooling. It is as likely a vocation as any, though given Evandre’s hatred of mathematical formulae architecture at the very least is off the table. Thankfully Philippus has always had a mind for such things and ensures their daughter at least has a passing knowledge of mathematics to keep her tutors content. To her own surprise, having known nothing but frustration whenever trying to coach any of her sisters, Philippus’ greatest pleasure has come in teaching Evandre new things. She had shown her daughter how to use a bow before allowing Antiope’s archers to continue her instruction, taught her how to hold a reed to parchment and shape letters, how to tie a knot, make her bed, navigate by the stars. She held their little girl in the bathing pools as she kicked furiously against the water until she could swim and then watched with pride as Evandre took to the challenge of lakes, then rivers, then oceans. 

In the room just behind where Hippolyta now stands Philippus had first begun to teach Evandre more words than the one she brought with her to Themyscira. Hippolyta can remember so clearly Philippus sat cross legged on the stone floor playing with the baby as she herself hunched over the bureau working into the evening over some proposal or other before they put Evandre down to bed. 

The girl had just began holding herself up using whatever furniture was close enough to offer support and at the moment her chubby hands are tight on the post of the bed while Philippus tries to teach her the word ‘yes’. Aside from when they want Evandre to settle for a nap or attempt to clean her face she is an agreeable baby, though she is still in the habit of saying ‘no’ for everything. It is her first word for any situation even if it is not her actual meaning and Philippus is certain that with all her babbling Evandre has a lot more words to share and is determined to coax them out of her.

Philippus holds out one of the wooden blocks they’d been playing with and Evandre stretches out an arm toward it. Her fingers flex for the offered toy but she can’t seem to limit the gesture to only one hand and the other, that now grips the covers hanging down off the edge of the bed, does the same. She wobbles a little but stays standing. 

“Do you want this Evandre?” Philippus asks, the block held on the flat of her palm. 

Evandre’s wide blue eyes are quizzical and her fingers grasp against the air again as a pleading little “no” passes her lips.

“Do you want the block Evandre?” Philippus asks again. She holds it a little closer to her daughter’s outstretched hand, “yes?” then pulls it back to herself, “no?”

Evandre pouts, her brow crinkles a little and she gives a huff, all suggesting she is getting ready to cry. As the block is brought back slowly to her by her mother the baby blinks rapidly holding off the bawling for a moment. 

“Yes?” Philippus asks again, slowly and clearly, waiting for Evandre to understand. 

Sounding a lot more unsure of herself than when she uses ‘no’ as an affirmative the girl answers “Yes” and Philippus gives her the block. With an excited giggle Evandre releases her grip on the bed to grab the new gift with both hands, promptly falling onto her padded behind. She looks to her mother in shocked surprise but before she can even think about crying Philippus scoops her up and sets her on her feet, holding the girl close to her chest and hushing her. 

Still not quite soothed Evandre squirms in Philippus’ hold and murmurs a few nonsense words before looking to her other mother across the room. Hippolyta shifts in her chair and moves to stand but Philippus gives a little shake of her head, now holding Evandre around the waist with her facing Hippolyta. 

“Do you want Mama?”

Evandre seems to stop to consider the question, looking between her two mothers.

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

Philippus gets to her feet and bending over to still hold the baby up she paces herself with Evandre as she takes a couple of big uneven steps that would overbalance her easily without her mother’s firm grip. The girl’s gait evens out and her little back straightens as she starts slowly tottering across the room. With a quick glance up at Hippolyta and seeing only the tiniest amount of apprehension in her eyes, Philippus loosens her grip and then moves her hands away from Evandre’s waist. Her palms hover just at the little girl’s sides ready to catch her but Evandre continues to walk unaided. 

The women look at each other, Philippus lets out a giddy laugh and a tear escaping down Hippolyta’s cheek does not go unnoticed. Evandre makes it four or five steps before her momentum overtakes her balance and she falls to the floor before either woman can reach her. 

Hippolyta is first to their daughter and gathers her up in her arms. There are a few sniffles but with her mother to comfort her they don’t last long and in moments Evandre is reaching her arms out to Philippus with a little whined “no” that both take to mean she would like to be in her other mother’s arms for a while now.

“Noooo. Please Papa, just show me.” Out on the balcony Evandre has returned to her seat at the table to face her foe but decided pleading with her mother for the solution is the easiest way to victory. 

“Evandre.” The girl shoots up in her chair at Hippolyta’s voice, her open face so easy to read as torn between pleased her mama is home for the evening and anxious that she has been caught trying to cheat on her schoolwork. 

“I must borrow your papa a moment,” Evandre gives a little sigh of relief and her shoulders relax as she slumps back into her seat and drops her attention back down to the papers. Philippus throws Hippolyta a roguish grin which her wife dismisses with an eye roll, “I need help with my armour.” This does nothing to dissuade the mischief in Philippus’ eyes. 

As Philippus stands Evandre lifts her head to Hippolyta, “may as well, Papa’s not helping me.”

There was a time when Hippolyta had thought her baby to be the quiet, obedient and well behaved of her daughters but it seems as though that time has long since passed. At the same age Diana was certainly not so bold with her mother, though of course Evandre does have the fine example Diana sets now as a young woman to follow and neither one of them make her life easy.

Evandre tilts her head back and gives Philippus a winning smile to which Philippus leans down and holds the girl’s head so she cannot escape the kiss that follows. Evandre’s nose scrunches up in mock disgust but she can’t hide the grin tugging at her lips. Philippus keeps hold of her daughter to tell her, “Giving you the answers would not be helping you.” 

As she makes her way to Hippolyta, Philippus calls back over her shoulder, “I expect to have answers to check by the time we come back.” Her hands are at Hippolyta’s waist and pushing her lightly back through the doorway before there is any chance of a remark from Evandre and she kicks the door closed behind them.

“Philippus.” Hippolyta draws out her love’s name as Philippus’ lips brush the pulse point at her neck. “The armour.”

“I’ve told Evandre before, the buckles can be very tricky. This may take me some time,” she breathes against Hippolyta’s neck. 

“And we certainly would not want her to rush her schoolwork,” Hippolyta concedes as the first strap of her armour is swiftly released and Philippus hurriedly sets to work on the next. 

Out on the balcony moments later Evandre hears the unmistakable clang of armour hitting the floor and wonders just exactly how naïve her parents think she is. Throwing herself back into her studies Evandre can only pray to the gods that until her mothers are done acting like a couple of forest nymphs she hears nothing more from their room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Noexcuseforme for the suggestion on Tumblr that Hippolyta reminisce about Evandre's first steps. It somehow turned in to this. Hope you like it.


	11. Blush

Evandre is so preoccupied with thoughts of preparing for her lessons with Iola in the morning that she almost misses the look Venelia gives her as she passes through the palace gate. The Queen’s Guard of course have a duty to the royal family but most importantly they swear an oath to their Queen and none of them would do anything to bring Hippolyta’s reproach; however, over the years a few soldiers of the Guard have also grown fiercely protective of their little princess and do their best to give her fair warning when she might be in trouble with her mothers. 

Venelia doesn’t utter a word, just nods in greeting but she holds Evandre’s gaze far longer than she normally would and there is hint of caution in her eyes. The sun sets earlier this late in the season but Evandre has been allowed to wander freely this late in to the evening before and the girl thinks perhaps her mother is less agreeable about it while her papa is away from home. Deciding it might be best to allow word of her return to reach Hippolyta’s ears from the soldiers rather than face her tonight. 

Heading straight to her room Evandre returns her bow to its stand and changes from her riding leathers into a simple tunic and loose trousers that reach just below the knee, glad to be out of the mud and sweat stained clothes. She throws the dirty leathers to a corner where Larina will chide her for leaving them tomorrow.

What she really needs to do is go bathe but her stomach lets out a protesting growl when she thinks about going directly to the pools. Like tackling some great military campaign Evandre comes up with a plan which means first going to the dining room. Her mother will have finished her evening meal hours ago and either be out on the balcony if she has company or at her desk in her own room, so Evandre will not be noticed relieving the table of anything Larina has left out for her return. Then to the bathing pools that will mercifully be free of any of Antiope’s boisterous warriors who would have filled the caverns after training, some lounging in the hottest waters to ease aching muscles and others splashing about in the larger pools like children still energized from sparring. Once washing is out of the way Evandre can return to her room and ready what materials she needs for lessons tomorrow before sleep.

At the heavy wooden doors of the dining room Evandre finds herself pushing up on her toes to leverage herself against the door to open it as she did when she was a small child. The door creaks a little but while barefoot Evandre barely makes a sound as she moves inside, eyes sweeping up the table; a half loaf of dark brown bread sits beside a bowl of olive oil, a board of cheeses, a bowl of tart yellow mangos. And then her gaze hits the head of the table and finds her mother sat waiting for her. 

“Good evening Mother.” Evandre gives a little smile at being caught but it soon vanishes against Hippolyta’s stone faced expression. This is not her mother’s look of exasperated affection; Evandre is most definitely in trouble. 

There is a small plate already made up for her set before Hippolyta and her mother pushes it a little towards Evandre. The girl practically tiptoes to the table before taking a seat across from her mother, hesitating a moment before taking a handful of olives and pushing them into her mouth. Just as she finishes chewing and is about to swallow Hippolyta asks, “how was training today?”

Evandre coughs, trying not to choke as she forces down the mouthful, and goes a little pale. She tries to recover her composure as her mother tells her dispassionately to chew her food properly, as if she is a child, and Evandre thinks Hippolyta surely can’t know she avoided training this afternoon. If she just acts normal and apologises for staying out so late everything will be fine. 

“It was good.” 

Hippolyta gives a raised eyebrow intended to get Evandre to elaborate.

“Just drills and some sparring,” she stammers, trying to think how else her day might have been filled by Antiope. “And Menalippe taught me some new stances.” 

The recounting of her fictional day is cut short by Hippolyta, “You have not lied to me since you were five years old Evandre. Do you need a reminder of how that turned out for you?”

“No Mother.”

Evandre’s fingertips linger at the edge of the plate but she suddenly has no taste for foo, a heaviness filling the pit of her stomach. With the sound of her heart pounding in her ears Evandre almost doesn’t hear her mother.

“I want the truth Evandre.”

“I didn’t go today.” Her mother would know everything, Evandre thinks, of course she would and trying to convince herself otherwise had been ridiculous. In a rush of words and barely taking a breath Evandre confesses that she also hadn’t attended two days ago either and that she had told her Aunt Antiope that Hippolyta had wanted Evandre to accompany her in the senate but instead she disappeared off into the forest. 

Hippolyta sighs when Evandre finishes, only just running out of words before running out of air, lips still parted but nothing else to say that might help her. For how smart her youngest is when it comes to her school work (mastering philosophical principles, intricate languages and complex musical instruments) it surprises Hippolyta that Evandre would not think that Antiope might just speak with her sister about the girl’s absence from training. Another reminder that even when Hippolyta sees a young woman emerging before her, Evandre is often still a child, impulsive and foolish and with so many more mistakes to make before she’s grown. And while Hippolyta knows the only way for Evandre to grow up is to allow her to misstep and then tread the path she makes for herself, she cannot abide the girl lying. 

“Why?” Evandre gives a little shrug of her shoulders but only stares at her plate. “Evandre, look at me. Why did you not attend training? And why would you lie about it?”

Evandre looks up but her only reply is silence. The girl’s eyes are filling with tears and her cheeks are flushed but she doesn’t speak up. Hippolyta knows she will not get an answer from her daughter tonight; overwhelmed by guilt and the fear of reprimand and with a strong stubborn streak Evandre will struggle to explain her actions if pressed. Hippolyta decides the best course would be to allow the girl to reflect on her choices and consider the consequences a little before she demands answers.

“Go to your room. Tomorrow you will apologise to Antiope and take whatever punishment she sees fit. I will discuss this with your papa when she gets home and decide how we will deal with you.”

Evandre gives a little squeak at Hippolyta’s words, eyes wide but remaining seated. 

“Go on.” With permission Evandre flees from the dining room like a startled rabbit. 

As soon as she’s back in her own room Evandre throws herself face down on her bed. Why was she so stupid? Obviously her mother would find her out. She should have said she was sick and hidden in her bed to get out of training. But Papa would have called Epione and there was no way Evandre could have fooled the healer.

The dread of being punished (that she may not be allowed out riding or to go to the waterfalls alone, or be permitted to take part in the festival, and Antiope will likely have her running through endless drills or lifting weights or something equally monotonous and exhausting) is nothing compared to the sick feeling Evandre gets when she dwells on the fact that she will have to tell her parents why she didn’t want to attend training.

The bedroom door pushes open slowly without a knock, which would only be Diana. Evandre buries her head deeper into her pillow and hopes her sister will go away. She doesn’t. The bed shifts and a hand comes to rest on the small of her back. When Diana starts to rub up and down Evandre realises hot tears of frustration are sinking into her pillow and her sister can hear the angry sobs she’s trying to muffle. 

“I spoke with Mother.” Diana’s voice seems to calm Evandre despite herself and she stills a little under her sister’s touch. Diana remembers when she was even younger than Evandre how strong her desire join training with the warriors was, risking her mother’s anger by running away from her tutors until she had at least worn out Antiope’s resistance. Then at Evandre’s age Mother had found out what Diana and Antiope had been up to behind her back all those years and though she had allowed the training to continue Hippolyta had been sure to address Diana’s dishonesty. For Diana it had certainly seemed worth it to finally stand on those training grounds and not merely overlook them but perhaps she had been wrong in thinking Evandre would want the same things. 

Though Evandre had seemed to enjoy it over the years. Of course she most of those days ended with her exhausted and bruised but Evandre always seemed proud of her efforts and eager to take to the field again the next day. Though maybe Diana was only seen what she wanted to. 

“If you do not wish to train anymore you can tell Mother. She would understand.”

The girl lifts her head at that and rolls onto her shoulder to look at Diana. “No. I want to train,” Evandre pleads desperately, as though her sister is saying she would take away a favourite toy and Diana sees why her mother is so confused by the situation. But Hippolyta had said Evandre could or would not answer why she had avoided training so Diana doesn’t press the issue either, right now her focus is on how she might stop her little sister’s tears. 

Evandre shifts herself to sit up, crosses her legs and draws one of the cushions into her lap as though to shield herself. “I want to train, I really do. I just.. I don’t…” Her chin drops to the cushion frustrated with herself at not being able to find the right words. 

Diana can’t think what could possibly be troubling her about training. Only days ago she watched Evandre share the field with Otrera as they practiced trick shots and Evandre had been all smiles, hanging on Otrera’s every word as she instructed the girl how to fire two and three arrows at once. Even when Evandre struggled she hadn’t seemed upset, in fact Diana remembers the smile never left her lips as Otrera spent the time placing her fingers over Evandre’s on the bow, stood pressed against her back to guide the movement when she released the arrows. And suddenly Diana sees it all so clearly. The blush flushing Evandre’s cheeks, the stammering responses to Otrera’s questions. And in the bathing pools after training Evandre had started to studiously avoid the pools where rowdy women splashed about and tugged each other into the waters or climbed onto backs to dunk their fellow warriors. The pools Otrera was always in the thick of, seeming never to tire at the end of a day. 

“Oh Evandre.” The girl doesn’t lift her chin but raises her eyes and studies Diana’s face a moment. When she realises her secret has been discovered she raises the cushion to hide her face behind it. 

Diana only smiles and pushes it back down gently. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Liking someone.” The pink that had coloured Evandre’s cheeks deepens and spreads down her neck and Diana does her very best not to laugh at her baby sister. She has no doubt there is many a woman on the island who have found themselves at the mercy of Aphrodite but only she understands what Evandre is going through; so certain of the passions she is feeling and yet so very unsure of what exactly she is to do with them. Not coming in to the world from the waters fully grown certainly had disadvantages. 

With Evandre looking up at her as though she might hold all the answers to her problems, Diana confesses to having gone through the same thing at her age, also falling hard for one of Antiope’s soldiers. 

“Who?” Interest peaked all Evandre’s tears and awkwardness seem to have been forgotten for a moment and she looks hopefully to Diana for the rest of the story.

Diana rocks on the bed to bump her hip into her sister, lips pursed and shaking her head. “I am not telling you that.” 

Evandre giggles and then takes a breath that finally releases the tension from her body. She still has the cushion on her lap but is no longer using it as armour and she pushes it away from her to scrabble closer to Diana and wraps her skinny arms around her sister’s waist. Diana brings her arm up to hold Evandre’s head against her and rests her cheek against the soft blonde hair.

“Will it always feel like this?” Evandre whispers. 

Diana thinks of the giddy nervousness, anticipation, exhilaration, longing, confusion. 

“Yes.” 

And then she thinks of everything that came after. 

“And no.” 

The next morning at breakfast Evandre is glued to Diana’s side and though the girl is well aware she’ll be spending the day facing the consequences of her actions Hippolyta notes how much more at peace Evandre seems, as though a weight has been lifted from her. 

When they finish eating Hippolyta sends Evandre on her way to face the General. As the girl passes her chair Hippolyta catches her arm and gently tugs her closer and Evandre obediently leans in for her mother to kiss her cheek. 

“Come back straight after training today.”

“Yes Mother.”

With only her and Diana now at the table, Hippolyta looks to her elder daughter for some explanation that might help her be prepared for Philippus’ return and the discussion they must have.

Before she says anything else Diana smirks at her mother. “I think you may have to consider telling Evandre babies do not come from clay before she finds those scrolls.”


	12. Stay With You

Woken by a piercing wail it takes a few heartbeats for Hippolyta’s sleepy mind to remember that they’d acquired a baby last night thanks to her daughter. Her eldest daughter now Hippolyta thinks as she climbs out of the bed and lifts the infant out of the crib before Philippus has even rolled over blinking in bewilderment. Hippolyta murmurs soft nonsense in the girl’s tiny ear as she bounces Evandre gently in her arms the way she had with Diana as a baby; only then she did not have Philippus sharing her bed. 

The other woman is now as fully conscious as Hippolyta can expect her to be at whatever time in the morning they find themselves awake at while it is still dark outside. “Is she okay?” 

Philippus had of course been around Diana as a child but this is her first time being pulled from Morpheus’s hold by a screaming baby. Antiope always teased that of course Hippolyta would chose the amazon most likely to sleep through an invasion as head of her personal Guard; Menalippe had been first to insinuate that it gave Hippolyta a reason to keep her general close, very close. 

Now she has been picked up Evandre seems to be done screaming but continues to sob for all she’s worth. Hippolyta thinks back to the nights when Diana woke every few hours howling to be fed, only catching moments of rest as she held the baby to her breast and they were both lulled into sleep. “She’s too old for a nightly feed,” Hippolyta tells herself as she hefts Evandre’s weight in her arms with Philippus hanging on her words for some hope in stopping the baby from crying.

Hippolyta taps the girl’s padded behind and sure enough it’s heavy and wet, merely discomfort had woken her. “She will need a change.” Philippus stumbles to fetch a clean cloth and whatever else Hippolyta might need before returning to the bed but Hippolyta would rather not attempt it while the girl is likely to fight her every step as the crying continues and Evandre’s legs kick out at Hippolyta as she paces at the end of the bed. While she waits Hippolyta watches the silver moonlight through the un-shuttered windows sparkling in the tears that fall from Evandre and how it lights the concern in Philippus’ eyes. 

“She will settle in a moment.” Hippolyta reassures her but Philippus does not seem convinced.

Rocking the infant in her arms Hippolyta strokes the wet red cheeks and as her thumb brushes against Evandre’s lips the girl takes it in her mouth and begins to suck. The Queen lets out a thankful sigh as the tears stop and her Consort drops back to her pillow in relief. 

A short while later as Evandre’s eyelids begin to fall from the pull of sleep, Hippolyta dares to remove her thumb and sets to changing the girl. She lays Evandre down on the bed to do so and Philippus rests her head near Evandre’s so they can both gaze at each other sleepily. 

As Hippolyta takes the soiled cloth away Philippus pulls the girl into her lap and nestles back against the cushions at the head of the bed. Sucking her own thumb now Evandre lays against Philippus’ chest as the woman hums to her, some ancient melody Hippolyta finds her wife sings under her breath without realising when she is tired but content. Evandre, still yet to see a sunrise in this new world of hers, seems happy enough if all she knows is their company and comfort. 

Coming back to the bedside Hippolyta gently tries to take the baby from her wife and return her to the crib but Evandre wails “no” and grips tight to Philippus. “I guess she’s staying here until morning,” Philippus laughs. Willing to allow defeat on this occasion, Hippolyta joins the pair and the women shuffle to lay back down under the covers with Evandre between them.

Only now it seems as though Evandre’s curiosity will keep her awake, her little hand reaching out for Philippus’ face and sighing happily when the woman catches her fingers between her lips. When Philippus lets her go Evandre rolls over toward Hippolyta giggling and immediately seizes one of her braids. Uncurling the small fingers, the Queen lightly places her hand on the infant’s belly to hold her still. 

“Time to sleep.” Evandre blinks and makes little protesting noises as she tries to wriggle out from under Hippolyta’s restraint. She is unsuccessful but quiets as Hippolyta’s other hand reaches from above so her fingers brush up and down the bridge of Evandre’s nose and her eyelids flutter only a few times until they stay closed. 

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww 

Philippus wakes from a knee to her ribs as the little body next to her fidgets in sleep and a clammy hand pulls at her shirt. Reaching to touch a rosy cheek the woman confirms Evandre is warm from lying between her two mothers but no longer fever hot. Blonde hair is stuck in dark strands to her forehead but dried now the fever has left her. It has been a while since they’d shared their bed with Evandre, having moved her to a room of her own and strictly keeping to the rule of returning the little girl to her own bed until she settled. But last night neither Philippus nor Hippolyta could bear to leave Evandre alone. 

Yesterday morning Evandre had been grumpier than usual, pushing the food around her plate with the notion that her mothers might not see her efforts. As the women spoke of their day ahead Hippolyta continued to pause in their conversation to tell Evandre to eat something. Where Evandre would typically argue back a little testing her limits, today she seemed to have opted for a strategy of sullen silence. 

With her own breakfast finished and the excuse of pressing duties to attend to Philippus kissed her wife and daughter goodbye with only a slight feeling of guilt at leaving Hippolyta to handle this latest battle of wills with Evandre.

When Philippus returned from her Guard duties in the evening Hippolyta was pacing the living area with their little girl in her arms trying to soothe her. Holding Evandre on her hip as she had as a baby it is clear how big their girl is getting; Evandre’s arms can wrap fully around Hippolyta’s neck and her scrawny legs would almost touch the floor should Hippolyta let her go.

As Philippus greets them Hippolyta lifts her chin from resting on the top of Evandre’s head so her wife can see the girl, “She has a fever. “ Evandre gazes up at her papa glassy eyed, face shining with sweat and when Philippus presses her lips to Evandre’s forehead she feels the heat immediately. 

“Epione says it should break by morning.” 

Shortly after breakfast Evandre had finally spoken up and told her mama she was feeling unwell. Once she had what tenacity had seen her through the early morning faded from her fast and Hippolyta called her guards to fetch a healer. After examining her patient Epione hadn’t needed to pronounce the fever, Hippolyta already held Evandre’s too warm shaking body in her arms, but she had assured the Queen it would pass and they merely needed to keep the young princess comfortable while her body fought for her. 

Hippolyta had taken Evandre to the bathing pools where she hoped one of those fed by the cool water springs rather than the earth warmed pools might sooth the chills wracking her small body. When she attempted to prise Evandre from her side and help her into the pool the six year old had howled like an infant, leaving Hippolyta no choice but to strip down and carry Evandre in herself. Sat in one of the carved seats with the water just below her shoulders, Hippolyta held Evandre unmoving on her lap and felt her daughter’s skin burning against her own. 

Her heart broke when Evandre struggled to lift her head enough to murmur, “Mama, it hurts.” Lifting her hand from the water Hippolyta stroked Evandre’s forehead and the girl’s eyes closed briefly in relief at the chilled touch.

Unfortunately they could not stay in the waters all day but back at their quarters Menalippe had arrived to take Evandre for the day only to find herself spending an afternoon fussing over her sick niece. She slowly and patiently held a spoon to feed Evandre half a bowl of clear broth despite the girl’s feeble protests that she wasn’t hungry. Then sat with her telling tales of the many reckless and silly things her Aunt Antiope has done over the years, usually in misguided attempts to impress Menalippe. These are Evandre’s favourite stories, always gasping or laughing at the twist of each even if she’d heard it before. Today she was quiet, only whispering “another” when one tale was finished and then adding a weak “please.” 

They sat together on one of the large cushioned couches with Hippolyta always nearby, pretending to work at her parchments but never really taking her attention from her daughter as one minute Menalippe would bundle her up in a blanket to ease the shivering and the next help to strip Evandre down to her cotton shift as the chills left her. 

As night draws in Philippus sits with Evandre out on the balcony, holding a wet a cloth to her forehead and praying for the cool summer evening to hold out. Evandre seems exhausted beyond sleeping when Hippolyta brings over the medicine bottle Epione had left, that she assured the Queen would see Evandre through until morning. 

“Drink this and you will be able to sleep.” Hippolyta brushes the hair from Evandre’s face and tilts her head back with two fingers under her chin. Evandre whimpers but has no fight in her; even if the medicine will need a little time to take effect, her eyes close right away hopeful that dreams will carry her away.

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

“Mother”

Hippolyta blinks to clear her sleep clouded vision and finds Evandre standing beside the bed, head hung in guilt for having woken her mother. Weak sunlight lifts the shadows in the room so dawn has already broken but it’s still far too early for anyone to be up and out of bed. 

“What’s wrong?” Hippolyta’s voice is rough and she coughs to clear her throat; at the sound Philippus stirs against her back but doesn’t wake. When their daughter gives no answer, merely shifts from foot to foot looking far younger than her eleven years, Hippolyta gives a sigh and lifts the cover, moving back toward her wife to make space for Evandre. Even in her sleep Philippus is compliant, rolling closer to the edge of her side of the bed. 

Evandre hesitates, biting her bottom lip whilst trying to decide if climbing in to bed with her mothers is too childish. But she has already come this far and so darts forward and crawls under the covers before she can change her mind, cuddling up close as Hippolyta wraps an arm around her. 

Where Evandre’s face presses into her collarbone Hippolyta can feel the little breaths against her neck are far too fast so she slows her own breathing in the hopes Evandre will fall in to the same rhythm. When cold feet touch against her shin Hippolyta wonders just how long Evandre had stood by the bed before waking her.

The whole of Themyscira seems silent except for Philippus’ deep and even breathing behind her and the Cicadas still singing from the trees outside before the birds take over with a morning chorus. Eventually Evandre says something, but so quietly Hippolyta can’t make out the words. 

“I can’t hear you baby, speak up.”

“You told Diana to take me back.” Her voice is wet and breathing ragged as she gulps back tears. For a moment Hippolyta is confused by what she might have said to Diana until she realises Evandre is not speaking of something which has actually happened but a nightmare. 

“Shh, it was only a dream. I would never do such a thing.” Evandre brings a hand from below the covers to swipe at her eyes and nods at what her mother says, trying to convince herself it is true. 

Hippolyta holds her tighter hoping it helps lend weight to her words. “You are my daughter and this is your home. No one will ever take you from us.” She kisses Evandre’s forehead until her breathing evens out and slows, hoping no more dreams trouble the girl tonight. 

Just as she is about to drift off herself she hears Philippus whisper in the dark, “Lyta?” 

Hippolyta cranes her neck to look over her shoulder at her very bewildered wife. “Why am I about to fall off the edge of this bed?”

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

Finding their twenty year old daughter sat at the end of their bed is not how Philippus and Hippolyta expected to end their evening. 

They’d been in the city for most of the day, enjoying the market festival that had brought Nushaba down from her vineyards, and then shared the evening meal with her and Timandra. Lounging in Timandra’s roof garden the couples had seen the sun set and stars rise while drinking far too much wine from Nushaba’s personal selection, the vintner arguing that there was no such a thing as too much good wine. The friends had traded old war stories as easily as the gossip of new romances before finally the Queen and Consort thanked their hosts and bid then goodnight. 

Discovering Evandre waiting for them though had the swift sobering effect that glances from the guards in their escort and sentries at the gate had failed to achieve, the royal couple until then entwined and giddy as young lovers. 

They had not had the pleasure of Evandre’s company for the last couple of days which was not unusual as the young women flitted between friends’ homes, and Hippolyta speculated one amazon’s in particular, rather than stay in the palace; but such an unexpected late night visit seemed troubling. Evandre didn’t look up at her mothers’ approach, sitting rather stiffly with her palms on her knees and staring at the leather bracers on the forearms. It isn’t until Philippus and Hippolyta take a seat either side of her that Evandre even seems to notice their presence and then she only murmurs, “We had an argument.”

Hippolyta allows herself a brief moment to throw Philippus a victorious smirk over Evandre’s bowed head. The other woman had been dismissing all Hippolyta’s talk of Evandre having found herself a love interest for months. Later she’d be able to tell her wife “I told you so” but for now she would focus on Evandre.

“She said I should go home,” Evandre gets out just before her breath catches and she starts to cry. With her head down the tears fall straight from her eyelashes to her lap where she now twists her fingers together anxiously.

Philippus has an arm slung over Evandre’s shoulder in an instant and pulls the young woman against her. “Things will be better in the morning, I promise.” 

Before Evandre protests that nothing will be better and surely the world is ending Hippolyta brushes the hair hanging down over Evandre’s face aside so she can see her daughter’s downcast eyes. “Do you know how many times your Papa has sent me away from our bed?” 

Philippus gives a soft laugh but Evandre scrunches her nose and pouts just as she did when she was a child. One of Evandre’s small braids escapes her pushed back hair to fall in front of her face and Hippolyta reaches out again to tuck it behind her ear then runs the back of her hand down Evandre’s jaw, drawing her to look up. “Tomorrow you will both see things clearer. You will go talk to her and work things out and everything will be okay.” 

Evandre gives a nod, wanting to believe what she’s being told. Leaning more heavily in to Philippus she looks to Hippolyta and asks hesitantly, “Can I stay with you tonight Mama?”

Hippolyta takes Evandre’s face in her hands and holds her until their daughter gives a weak smile. 

“You can always, always, stay with us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Beta has been gaming all weekend so there's probably some horrendous grammatical error I've missed that I will pick up on later and have to edit, however with the recent comments I'd been getting while I was writing this I figured it was probably easier to get it posted than to end up spoiling it by mentioning parts of it in replies. 
> 
> Also this is the last story in the main baby Evandre chapters I had planned and I'm moving in to grown up Evandre where I have an arc of stories to work on. But unfortunately it'll be a bit of a break until I get the next chapter up as I'm heading in to my birthday weekend with too many plans to allow for much writing. I'll try not to make the wait too long though.


End file.
